


Song of us

by Ziane



Category: Founder of Diabolism, The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Gore, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Implied Lan SIzhui/Lan Jingyi, M/M, Mutual Pining, Novel Spoilers, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Smut, Soulmates References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 142,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziane/pseuds/Ziane
Summary: Lan Xichen clutches at straws to save Nie Mingjue's soul from the wrongful end they condemned it even if it means he has to partner up with Nie Huaisang. Throughout this journey, the only clear thought in his mind is that he will go as far as it takes to liberate his soul from spending eternity inside a coffin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My love for NieLan has fueled me this past month and a half to write a story in which they have the happy ending they deserve. My skills are limited, but I wrote this with tons of love for the characters and I hope it makes up for my mistakes. Above all, I hope you enjoy the fic and that you have a great time. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ)
> 
> \- I will post a new Chapter every Tuesday and Friday ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> \- SangCheng is tagged too because Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang are a huge part of the story, especially during the first ten chapters.

The lambent glow of the Unclean Realm bathes the room in the sunlight reflecting in the snow-capped peaks of Qinghe. It contrasts against the darkened chambers of the Nie Residence and gives the room an otherworldly aura. Lan Xichen smiles as he plucks the strings of the seven-stringed guqin. The melody withdrawn was once composed to soothe the mind and cleanse the soul. Its tunefulness envelopes the room and brightens it up more than the early spring sun that will melt the snow and will make way for the scarce flora in just a few weeks.

As he lifts his gaze, he finds the reason of his life enjoying rice wine from a white, round cup while admiring him with a love-struck glance he covets just for him. Nie Mingjue’s harshness vanishes upon his presence. The characteristic furrow between his eyebrows disappears, his cheeks flush by the wine and his company, and his eyes glitter full of intent. Lan Xichen lowers his lashes, focusing on the melody because if he falls for Nie Mingjue’s bewitching intentions, the guqin and their garments would scatter over the floor in no time and the only cleansing they will get will be the pleasure of being skin against skin.

The tune would be replaced by muttered gasps and throaty moans as he succumbs to Nie Mingjue’s charms and yields to his strong, demanding hands, his sharp teeth, and his relentless tongue. The thought tinges his cheeks in a pink hue, but his fingers pull and tug unhurriedly as he moves on to another section of the calming melody. There will be time later to quench their fire onto the other’s body.

All of a sudden, a growing, dark shadow creeps over the guqin, covering his fingers at a leisurely pace and preventing the notes from resonating in the air. It shuts down the melody in its path and worse, changes it at its own free will. Lan Xichen frowns. A frisson runs through his spine at a familiar laugh behind him. He glances over his shoulder, but there’s no one there but gloom. It moves to the other corner of the room. There is no light coming through the windows anymore, eerie darkness enveloping them in a mystical grey smoke with the scent of blood and resentful energy.

Before the shadow covers the entire guqin, he slams his palm on the seven strings and ends his performance abruptly. Lifting his eyes again, the laugh echoes clearly. It’s directed at him as a final mockery to his attempts to play and fix what cannot be fixed. The atmosphere fogs his mind and sends his heart for a gallop. The dreamlike scenery has turned into a nightmare. Lan Xichen finds Nie Mingjue in front of him, but there is no trace of his lifelike eyes anymore. They are completely blank and dull, no life in them, no lust, no overjoy as they stare listlessly into the void. His hands lay over his knees, clenched in two tight fists. “Dage,” he mouths, but no sound comes out of his lips. He clutches a hand around his throat.

“Dage!”

As a dreadful answer, Nie Mingjue opens his mouth and a pool of black blood cascades down his throat as a terrifying scenery. Blood trickles down his garments and all over the floor. Tears well in his eyes as Lan Xichen realizes where he is, recognizing the recurrent dream and knowing he won’t get free until he has gone through it. Every single time.

Looking down at the guqin, his trembling fingers, the strings, and the dark wood of the body are covered in thick, red blood. The stench churns his stomach and makes him wrinkle his nose. He holds his hands before his eyes, the scarlet liquid staining his clothes and palms while his tears trickle down his cheeks. He lifts his gaze to see Nie Mingjue because he never wakes until he watches him.

The pair of soulless eyes shrink his heart, his lover isn’t there anymore. Only death. But before grief and sorrow conquer his heart, Jin Guangyao’s chuckle reaches his ears and his frail frame appears behind Nie Mingjue. “Stop!” Lan Xichen mouths uselessly. He didn’t dare to stop him when he could and this is part of his punishment. Jin Guangyao rounds Nie Mingjue’s neck with a thin guqin string at the same time a shrilling smile curls the corners of his dried-up lips. While meeting Lan Xichen’s eyes, Jin Guangyao tugs and tightens at either side until a red line adorns Nie Mingjue’s neck and scarlet blood seeps through his knuckles. Both his sworn brothers haunt him from the afterlife deadlier than a fierce corpse, and more efficiently than any vengeful ghost.

Lan Xichen knows the nightmare is over when Jin Guangyao’s laugh mingles with Nie Mingjue strangled groan and the toll of the bell in the Cloud Recesses. “No,” he whispers, springing up from his bed with ragged breath and a veil of perspiration soaking his undergarments. “Not again…” His deadly laugh still resounds in his mind. He used to laugh along with him, they used to trust each other… how could he be so blind? How could he let it happen? Guilt leaves a queasiness in his empty stomach and for a moment, he embraces the fateful thought of never waking up again.

The fear makes way for the grief. His lost love, fooled in life and tortured in death, shrinks his heart, and Lan Xichen feels his throat constricting and tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. Tossing the sheets aside, he sits and pinches the bridge of his nose, refusing to let more tears well in his eyes when he thought he had no more left to shed. Seems like every night he pours them all at once and the morning after he has new ones to collect during the day.

The peaceful atmosphere of the hanshi helps him start his day. One of the advantages of the Cloud Recesses is that everything here seems to be prone to heal your soul and calm your senses, even the wounds that cannot be healed. Pain numbs as he washes his face and hands in the basin. He slips into his routine as the only thing keeping him moving, living, surviving. Step after step, always the same. The gentle weight of his robes over his jade skin brings an inexplicable peace, especially when he wraps the forehead ribbon around his head, tight and perfect. Conduct yourself, in joy and in grief. Lan Xichen straightens the long sleeves of his clouded garments and grants a sidelong glance at his guqin. He sighs, hanging Liebing and Shuoyue from his sash before a gentle knock on the frame of the door surprises him.

“Sect Leader Lan.” The gentle voice brings a brief smile to his lips.

“Sizhui.” He comes into the room carrying a tray with a morning tea and a mild breakfast consisting of steamed buns and soup. Bowing his head once, he kneels and leaves it on the table. Now that Lan Wangji roams the world with Wei Wuxian, he suspects the kind-hearted Lan Sizhui worries about him after what happened in the Guanyin Temple. Who doesn’t look at him dolefully lately?

“There is no need for you to serve my breakfast,” Lan Xichen says, sitting gracefully, the sleeves pooling at his sides. Lan Sizhui nods and serves the tea for him nonetheless. “Thank you.” He hopes he becomes a renowned, gentle cultivator like Lan Wangji. He certainly has the looks, the collected demeanor, and the gracefulness of a Lan.

“I knew Sect Leader Lan would welcome the new disciples today,” Lan Sizhui explains, sitting properly as Lan Xichen sips his tea and shakes his head at the formalities. “You have spent so many days in secluded meditation, practicing inedia, that I…” His cheeks flushed in pink.

“You take after Wangji,” Lan Xichen says with a genuine smile. “It shows he brought you up.” Lan Sizhui nods, his eyes fixed on his lap as he accepts the sincere compliment. Not long ago he was punished again for night-hunting with the Ghost General, but for some reason, Lan Xichen understands their need for adventures even though he doesn’t prevent Lan Qiren from unleashing his anger on them. Lan Xichen wished life were as easy as to take care of some water ghouls in Caiyi Town.

“I hope not to be a disappointment.”

“How could you?” Lan Xichen sighs, thankful for the company and the comfort of the food and warm tea after the loneliness he forces on himself. He loses track of time during seclusion, but dreading to become his father, he comes out every now and then and carries on with life and obligations as Sect Leader. Noting Lan Sizhui shifts and lifts his eyes to look at him, he asks: “Is there anything else?”

“Y-yes…” Lan Sizhui clears his throat, reminding himself that there is no need to be nervous even though Lan Xichen hasn’t been himself lately. But there is no way to predict his reaction. “There is a visitor wanting to see you.”

“Hm.” Lan Wangji visited the Cloud Recesses soon after the Guanyin incident. He eloped with Wei Wuxian that same night and, two months later, they came back to become cultivation partners according to their customs. It was a beautiful ceremony in which he forced a smile on his face but couldn’t help to shed many tears at the genuine happiness he felt for the new couple. Red veil and flowing robes, their smiles matching their hearts. The sole memory takes him aback. His pain was still very recent, and as they bowed to the earth, the heavens, and each other, Lan Xichen’s tears trickled down his cheeks as he wished them the happy life he will never have. He had renounced to it long ago.

That was six months ago, so he discards Lan Wangji’s presence in the Cloud Recesses so soon unless something has happened. He realizes the well-behaved disciple awaits his permission to speak. “Who do we have the pleasure to receive as a guest besides the new disciples?” Lan Sizhui swallows audibly.

“Sect Leader Jiang of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect.” Lan Xichen’s eyes widen in surprise.

“I see.” Lan Xichen nods, his polite smile comes so naturally it scares him. Those smiles are as empty as his betrayed heart, but necessary so his loved ones don't worry. His grief is his own, and he’ll endure it in solitude for many years to come.

A long time ago, he cried his heart out upon Nie Mingjue’s sudden death. How hard it is to grieve over someone not once but twice? His already shattered heart trudges from one heartbeat to another, and his soul hides in the darkest places of his mind; sometimes unable to acknowledge the harsh reality that his beloved, his sworn brother, the love of his life, left him once and far from finding peace, he was tortured after death and his soul devoured by resentful energy. Unable to reincarnate; incapable of returning to him one day. It pains him to be so helpless, not even Evocation reaches a soul long consumed by hate and resentfulness.

“Sect Leader Lan?” Lan Xichen realizes he has been staring at the lukewarm tea.

“Yes?” Two dark voids brimming with sorrow stare into the young disciple.

“Sect Leader Jiang awaits at the main hall,” he repeats.

After a deep sigh and a furtive sidelong glance at his guqin, Lan Xichen wears his smile again. “Let’s not make him wait any longer,” he says. “I haven’t seen Sect Leader Jiang since… quite a while.” Lan Sizhui nods, knowing exactly no one has seen Jiang Cheng lately because he’s always traveling between Yunmeng and Lanling securing his nephew’s future.

While Lan Xichen strolls through the Cloud Recesses, nodding here and there to the bows and greetings from young disciples and Gusu Lan cultivators, he realizes that life goes on. His absence makes no difference, he’s the leader of a prominent sect and even if he tries to carry on with his duties, his uncle had to replace his father and has to do the same for him now. But what has his life to offer besides the constant reminder of his two sworn brothers consumed by hate? Besides his love dying because of his obliviousness?

The main hall lightens up as he opens the wooden doors and steps inside. “Sect Leader Jiang,” he greets. Lan Sizhui closes the doors of the main hall and leaves them be, but someone pulls at his sleeve and covers his mouth before he can muffle a protest.

The proud ruler of Lotus Pier turns around with his usual elegance. His purple jianxiu robe flows smoothly with his movements, a hand resting over Sandu. If not because of the nightly blue, menacing eyes, the maidens would faint upon his beauty instead of fearing him. “Sect Leader Lan,” Jiang Cheng says. He rolls Zidian with his thumb, his chest heaving as if he were gathering strength or courage to say something. They hadn’t seen each other since that fateful night. Tears poured down his cheeks, having been stabbed through the heart physically and metaphorically.

Lan Xichen beams with the same, peerless beauty from a year ago, but Jiang Cheng recognizes the dark shadows of grief under his eyes, the void in his pupils, the aching heart that lays underneath still mourning its loss. At least he never faked a smile, he became his bitter-self to overcome his misfortunes. If losing one’s family in full could be called that. “I’ve heard between Lanling and Yunmeng you managed to control the chaos,” Lan Xichen says, beckoning Jiang Cheng to walk abreast of him.

“The Lanling Jin Sect had done despicable deeds,” he peeks at Lan Xichen, his words blame one man and one man alone: Jin Guangyao. “But when the time is right, Jin Ling will bring back the sect’s honor and glory and he won’t have to build it from scratch.”

“As you once did,” Lan Xichen quips. The deceased Sect Leader Jin amassed years and years of crimes. He assassinated his half-brothers, his father, his sworn brother, his son, his wife… The reputation of the Lanling Jin Sect will never be the same no matter what, but Jiang Cheng holds onto his nephew’s legacy as if it were his, granting him the future his parents would have wanted him to have. “How can I assist you? Because polite visits have never been your forte.” Jiang Cheng grants a wry smile at those words. He keeps the crows at bay with Zidian in one hand and Sandu in the other, otherwise, Jinlin Tower would be nothing more than empty rooms and ashes by now.

Jiang Cheng has never cared for diplomacy, friendships or relationships; he had allies or enemies and nothing in between, and perhaps he missed out in many things in his life because of it. “I have come to ask for a favor.” Jiang Cheng clears his throat, his gaze lost in the white gardenias outside. The early morning dew still clings to them. “If I am in any position to ask a favor from you.” He meets his once gentle and warm eyes and finds himself reflected on them.

“You are the one shielded from everyone, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen says. “Although it is kind of ironic that I say that while I’ve cast myself away from the world.” Jiang Cheng swallows, this would be so much easier if _he_ were here.

Avoiding the touchy subject, he gets to the point: “Perhaps A-Ling could come here to study.” Lan Xichen’s eyes widen in surprise. “The year I spent here when I was younger,” the corner of his mouth pulls upward, his fingertips brushing lightly the windowsill, “meant so much to me even though at the time, I didn’t realize.”

“Young Master Jin is more than welcome here,” Lan Xichen says with a smile and a sigh of relief.

“Thank you.” Jiang Cheng breathes out. Part of him knew Lan Xichen wouldn’t refuse Jin Ling’s presence here, but given his past relationship with Wei Wuxian and knowing he’s part of the Lan Clan now he had his reservations about the matter. Thinking about him churns his stomach at how they parted that day, the words he never said, and those that came too late.

“We’d be honored to receive him whenever suits you.” Lan Xichen smiles, knowing a pair of Lan disciples that will be thrilled by the idea of Young Master Jin studying with them.

“A-Ling will be safe here,” Jiang Cheng mumbles. His hand clutches in a fist and Zidian sparkles faintly. Lan Xichen’s expression grows concerned, but before his lips part to question him, Jiang Cheng inspects the main hall, walking further inside the inner walls and beckoning Lan Xichen with his eyes. They are completely alone and far away from the windows and prying eyes or ears.

“Sect Leader Jiang? What is it?” Lan Xichen’s concern seems so genuine it takes Jiang Cheng aback for a moment. “What really brings you here?”

“There is a way,” Jiang Cheng whispers. Lan Xichen notes the subtle barrier of spiritual energy shielding their conversation. His eyebrows knit in a furrow as he scrutinizes Jiang Cheng’s expression, unable to connect the dots.

“A way to… what?”

“To retrieve his soul and grant him peace.” Gauged words that send his heart for a gallop. Who else could be but him?

“Y-you mean…” Lan Xichen stutters, his voice a thread of fear and hope.

“Chifeng-zun.”

For a moment, Lan Xichen swears his heart has stopped at a halt. Jiang Cheng wouldn’t make up false statements about something so serious, but this is not what he expected at all. “I thought… I thought the resentful energy had already sealed his consciousness and doomed him for all eternity.” Lan Xichen raises his voice. “Impossible to exorcise or heal! Mingjue-xiong’s soul is gone!”

“All that happened,” Jiang Cheng sighs. “But we believe there is a way to free his soul from spending an eternity trapped in a coffin.”

“Why bring this up now?” Lan Xichen hisses, cursing those words that make him feel a hint of warmth in his heart. That stormy night comes to him in a rush. Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse in a rampage of rage, not a trace of his gentle eyes or the man he loved. Jin Guangyao’s armless body and his disdainful face distorted in hatred. “Why would you care?” he fumes. A surge of ire courses through him, like the time he tried the Song of Turmoil on himself to prove Jin Guangyao’s innocence and, instead, he bled from his qiao.

“I don’t.” Jiang Cheng spits the words at the same time a purple spark flashes through his eyes like lightning. “I haven’t come here to convince you, but I know what it is to lose everyone you love.” His voice becomes raspy, as though a lump in his throat constricted the words and coated them in sorrow. “You keep going despite having no reason, no honorable reason in my case because I let revenge lead my life for many years.”

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen says in an outburst as though he could stop him from opening old wounds. He waves his hand at him as though there was no need to measure his words. Jiang Cheng left the past in the past that fateful night.

“But we do have something in common.” Jiang Cheng turns his back at him. His hand comes back to Sandu’s hilt as the other fixes the collars of his robes. He glances at him over his shoulder and finds Lan Xichen’s bleary eyes, still confused by his words. He’ll have time later to dwell on them and decide what to do with them. “We are both entangled with a Nie brother.” The confession catches Lan Xichen off guard. “And I know how far I’d go for him.” A wry smile pulls the corner of his mouth upward. “Do you?”

“What are you proposing?” Lan Xichen follows Jiang Cheng toward the door, the spiritual barrier dispersing around them, hinting there will be no more questions answered here and now.

“In two nights, come to Lotus Pier.” The haughty Sect Leader Jiang leaves as fast as he arrived, giving him no chance to inquire further. His words play again in his mind one after the other at the rhythm of his unbridled heart. How far will he go? “As far as it takes?” Lan Xichen mumbles as he leaves the main hall, his garments fluttering in the morning breeze, his thoughts entangled in a living nightmare. Two nights.

Suddenly, a name sneaks into his mind: Nie Huaisang. He took care of the coffin sealing ceremony, of his brother’s fierce corpse, and Jin Guangyao’s remains. A surge of vile comes up his mouth at the thought of meeting him again. Lan Xichen thought betrayal would fade away masked by grief, but Nie Huaisang fooled him too. He lied, schemed, and hid the truth from him. Would have he listened to his warnings or would he have ignored him if he had confided in him? Lan Xichen huffs, displeased by his own gloomy thoughts. If Nie Huaisang had come to him speaking nonsense about Jin Guangao, he would’ve been responsible for his death too. His angry thoughts don’t linger too much in his heart nor his mind. The welcoming ceremony is about to begin, and Lan Qiren spots him in the distance and nods at him, pleased with his presence. Lan Xichen straightens his back and wears his smile, bowing back to his uncle.

 

Underneath one of the windows of the main hall, Lan Sizhui holds Lan Jingyi over his shoulders until they both stumble in the green, damp grass. “Zewu-jun is gone,” he says, rubbing his sore backside as he helps Lan Sizhui up to his feet too.

“What did they say?” Impatience tinges his words.

“Didn’t you say this was wrong and that we shouldn’t pry?” Lan Jingyi sticks his tongue out.

“It was about him or not?” Lan Jingyi snorts, dusting his clothes and keeping the pieces and bits he gathered from the conversation between the two sect leaders. Lan Sizhui’s widened eyes and clenched fists make him roll his eyes.

“Seems like the young mistress will be studying with us,” he says with a grin on his face. Lan Sizhui gasps, unable to hide the smile stretching his lips or the blush on his cheeks. As though he just remembered something, he swivels about and starts running toward the Orchid Room, overjoy fueling his legs.

“Not today! Why are you all beet-red and smiling? Sizhui-xiong!” Lan Jingyi runs after him, mumbling a curse at how the competition came to the Cloud Recesses to steal his friend away.

“The welcoming ceremony! We’re late!” Lan Sizhui says, but the dopey smile still paints his lips and the jogging around is not what has his cheeks flushed in pink. Part of him wishes Jin Ling is among the disciples today, with his spark amidst snow uniform and that bitter thin line of displeasing on his lips.

“Running is forbidden!” Lan Jingyi yells, pursing his lips as he doubles the strides to catch him.

“So is yelling,” Lan Sizhui retorts.

 

The ruckus in the Gusu’s marketplace annoys Jiang Cheng as he walks through the crowded stalls at both sides of the main street, the multitude scattering in his path. Once their conversation was over, he flew on his sword back to Gusu, still doubtful if Lan Xichen took his words seriously. It doesn’t matter if he believed him or not, if he said there is a way there must be, otherwise Nie Huaisang wouldn’t go through the trouble he has, involving Lan Xichen when they didn’t end up in good terms. After all, Jiang Cheng was a mere messenger.

The banner of the establishment he was looking for flutters in the wind. It’s mildly hot inside, the shouts and background conversations from the street muffling as he walks past some empty tables. Jiang Cheng looks over the customers there until he finds a beautifully decorated folding fan and a pair of eyes peeking from behind. “May I help you?” A waiter asks politely.

Ambling toward him, he ignores him without uttering a word and sits beside the mysterious beauty. Nie Huaisang scoots closer, fanning himself lazily to hide the smirk that always stretches his lips when he sees Jiang Cheng. “Feeling lonely?” Jiang Cheng arches an eyebrow at the display of sweet and spicy dishes on the table. Nie Huaisang has tasted and played with every single one while waiting for him.

“Utterly bored too,” he quips, placing a hand on his thigh. The dark sea of his hair drapes down his shoulder as he leans forward, the fan covering half his face. Jiang Cheng’s stomach curls as it always does, hiding behind the folds to trap his lips in a chaste kiss that Nie Huaisang turns up a notch with a subtle swipe of his tongue. Sometimes Jiang Cheng cannot decide if he wants to be angry at him or at his mercy for the rest of his life. Probably the latter.

He picks at a red, spicy-looking dish and licks his fingers in disappointment. “Not good enough?”

“Not spicy enough.” Closing the fan with a whip of his wrist, Nie Huaisang waits impatiently for Jiang Cheng to unravel the outcome of his visit to the Cloud Recesses. “You should’ve come,” he chides.

“Zewu-jun hates me,” Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes. “He would have never listened to me.” Jiang Cheng pours two servings of wine, offering one to him. The hand on his thigh lifts to accept it, and Nie Huaisang glances at him over the brim of the cup. “I’m surprised you don’t hate me too. I have hidden so much from us.”

Jiang Cheng guesses when you’ve been lying and playing a part for so long you end up believing it, so he indulges Nie Huaisang when he gets overly dramatic or resentful for no apparent reason. He wants no quarrel with him and knows healing takes time. “You are entitled to your secrets,” he says instead, replacing his usual bitterness for a playful smirk. “So am I.”

“But you kept none from me,” Nie Huaisang pouts. “Not even back then…”

They were always a secret, a tryst to keep indoors. Teenagers playing hide and seek in between morning readings and then young Sect Leaders that would play cat and mouse in Discussion Conferences or night-hunts. His only consolation after the war was Nie Huaisang, and he suspects he played a similar role to his partner. But Jiang Cheng’s need for discretion vanished when the last wall between them fell.

Nie Huaisang took shelter in Lotus Pier after the Guanyin Temple incident. Even though Jiang Cheng was badly injured and emotionally devastated, Nie Huaisang cried his heart out clutching to his still bleeding purple robes. His revenge fulfilled, his heart trembling. They both felt unloved and weak and found comfort in each other as they had done many times throughout the years. Time healed their wounds, and with no mask covering his grief he saw his soul bare for the first time, and he knew he was the only one to ever glimpse at it. Jiang Cheng decided then and there that they’ll be together and wouldn’t waste life buried by secrets, desires of revenge, and broken-hearted, lonely nights.

Nie Huaisang agreed, and it has been like this ever since. “You are my secret,” Jiang Cheng whispers. His playful giggle brings him comfort as they keep each other company. He leans on his shoulder, fanning them both while the jar of wine downs and the food cools down. “I told him about us, though.”

“Did you?” He straightens, his hazel eyes squinting at him. “Well, we can trust the Lan Clan discretion,” he jests. “Was he surprised?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will he come?”

“I don’t know.” Jiang Cheng’s mouth stretches in a mocking smile, and Nie Huaisang nudges him.

“Are you trying to steal my title, Cheng-xiong?” Jiang Cheng shakes his head and both break into a soft chuckle. They had forgotten how to smile, and in barely half a year they know how to laugh, fight, and make up as if their lives haven’t been a steeplechase since birth. Their loved ones might be gone, but they have each other. Jiang Cheng has Jin Ling, and Nie Huaisang clutches at straws to save his brother from hell.

Downing the last remnants of wine, Jiang Cheng clears his throat. “If he comes, we’ll find out in two nights.” Nie Huaisang sighs. “Are you going to do it tonight?”

“Yes.” A dark shadow invades his until now sparkling eyes.

“Do you require my help?” Jiang Cheng stares at his doleful expression and a worrisome furrow appears between his eyebrows.

Waving a hand at him, Nie Huaisang plays down his worries. “I can handle it on my own,” he says, flicking his folding fan open as a habit. “You can take care of Jin Ling, check up on him on your way to Yunmeng.”

“A-Ling has people I trust by his side,” Jiang Cheng says, tossing enough money on the table to cover for the unfinished lunch.

“Trust no one, Cheng-xiong…” Nie Huaisang says with a wry smile that swiftly hides behind a landscape of clouded peaks surrounded by swallows.

“I’ll pass by Jinlin Tower and send Jin Ling on his way to the Cloud Recesses.” Jiang Cheng stands and offers a hand to Nie Huaisang. With an arm linked around his, they walk outside, the sun blinding them momentarily as they pretend to be nothing more than two cultivators strolling through the streets.

“We could fly together until I have to take a turn to Qinghe,” Nie Huaisang suggests with a sultry voice, leaning into him as an expert mistress who wants something else.

“You mean I can carry you and fly us half way there?” Jiang Cheng feigns to be annoyed when he actually loves holding him close as they drift over the clouds. Taking his answer as a yes, Nie Huaisang stands on his tiptoes and kisses his cheek, demurely covering his mischief with his fan. “I ordered a stack of Emperor’s Smile to be handed over to Lotus Pier,” he says out of the blue when an old lady carrying two jars pass by them.

A mischievous smile pulls the corners of his mouth upward. “Preparations for Wei Wuxian’s arrival?”

“I want to be a good host,” Jiang Cheng answers bluntly, omitting the part in which he was not a great host the last time Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji stayed in Lotus Pier.

“And a good friend,” Nie Huaisang mutters, coughing right after masking his words.

“If I don’t end up killing him, maybe,” Jiang Cheng says, eliciting a clear laugh from Nie Huaisang who squeezes his arm and makes them stop at a halt.

“What a softie and a fool you are,” he says tenderly. Jiang Cheng arm circles his waist, his lips pressed in a thin line. Nie Huaisang cradles his face with a warm hand. “You are lucky the only one aware is me.” As he throws his arms around Jiang Cheng’s neck, he feels the arm around him tighten. He unsheathes Sandu and hops on the elegant sword. The people around them murmur as they leave, causing more than one surprised gasp when they take off.

“Don’t tempt your luck,” Jiang Cheng says, trapping Nie Huaisang’s chin between his knuckles. He leans forward and bites his lower lip. They melt into a windy kiss as he blindly lurks the skies with his heart on his sleeve and his precious lover clinging to his neck and parting his mouth for him. It’s an enticing offering he shouldn’t be taking precisely now, but he never knew of measured love. “Huaisang…” The warning comes ten years late and has the same effect it did back then.

None at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your sweet comments and for being excited about this! I'm over the moon because I get to share it finally!!  
> (∩｡･ｏ･｡)っ.ﾟ☆｡’`

Albeit winter ended weeks ago, Nie Huaisang wraps himself well in a long mink coat. The greyish, fluffy garment hugs him, but the tip of his nose and cheeks reddens at the relentless nocturnal gale. He thinks of Jiang Cheng; how he would shield him from it pretending to be in the way or how he would keep him warm with the promise of an encounter near the warmth of a bonfire back at the Unclean Realm. But neither of those will happen tonight.

“Sect Leader Nie,” a cultivator calls, and Nie Huaisang glances at him. “We’re almost finished going through the north-west wall.”

“Any damaged corpses?”

“No.” Nie Huaisang nods back, the light of the torch moving away from him as the cultivator joins the larger group of men working. Some are sweating by the effort of taking down a wall without breaking the structure so they can use the same materials to reconstruct the opening later. It’s taking longer than he would have wanted.

In the depths of the Xinglu Ridge Mountain, a ghostly mist surrounds the man-eating castle and the party working like thieves to hide from prying eyes. The haze seems to ooze from the ground and creep to your knees. The locals don’t dare to venture this far, scared by the rumors Nie Huaisang fanned to protect the Ancestral Burial Ground of the Nie Clan. The complex maze array should keep brave cultivators at bay.

Nie Huaisang turns on his heels, bored with the sight as they remove stone after stone. Darkness envelopes him as he stares listlessly at the tall, deep forest. The silver shine of the moon reflects on the treetops, but the white puffs of breath blur his own sight. An uneasiness settles in his stomach, and as if he already knew, he ambles toward the improvised entrance as the workers place the last stone in the ground, forming a stair at the feet of the opening.

There is no real access to the castle. It has to be like this to guard what’s inside and protect the ongoing delicate balance from outsiders. As Sect Leader, Nie Huaisang cannot afford another incident like when Jin Ling almost lost his life for breaking in hunting what cannot be hunted but hunts instead. “Light the way,” Nie Huaisang commands. The cultivators share a few glances before two enter before him with a trembling torch each.

From afar, the castle boastfully erects itself in a clearing of the forest as a reverent monstrosity. Some of its walls are already covered in moss and some new as in built merely a few months ago. Every detail on it speaks of the Qinghe Nie Sect. Subtle for foreigners at first, but after the coffin sealing ceremony, Nie Huaisang added a new wing exclusively for _it_. He had to separate them, but it was the right thing to do. A long, dark hall leads them further into the stifling atmosphere inside, the air barely breathable. Nie Huaisang trembles underneath the thick coat more for fear than for cold. He never liked the darkness, much less when he knows what these walls hide.

They pass through several rooms containing a myriad of coffins each, a saber waiting inside every single one of them. One for every sect leader or renowned member of the Qinghe Nie Clan. The thought of his saber belonging into this gloomy place after he dies constricts his throat. The irritable tempers of the spirits seep through the stone coffins and give chills to the party of three that ventured inside. Nie Huaisang could have sent someone instead, but a lesson he learned a long time ago was that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself or make someone do it while you watch. A brief wry smile stretches his lips.

“Turn left at the next intersection,” Nie Huaisang says, his voice cracking.

The mortar of corpses about to transform filling the walls should terrify him more than the bloodthirsty sabers. This close to demonic cultivation practice has been a secret well kept for many years to suppress the saber spirits after their masters' deaths. What an irony it is that those same spirits extolling their owners in battle, paying their debt in blood are the same disrupting little by little the hearts and golden cores of the cultivators until their tempers turn bitter and wry or until they die from a qi deviation, madness, or worse. He has always been scared to wield his saber. Nie Huaisang carries it with him, respects the starving spirit inside, but he will never let it taint his heart even though he has already felt the family weakness affect his cultivation. His fate seems unavoidable and wakes him up at night drenched in a cold sweat.

As they enter the recently built chamber, the killing intent intensifies to the point the two cultivators before him swallow another pill to suppress the yang energy, probably fearful of the corpses breaking through the walls and devouring them alive. Nie Huaisang knows that won’t happen, his eyes fixed on the sturdy coffin at the top of the altar. And still, he believes this doesn’t do justice to his big brother.

Four columns decorated with the Nie Sect motif encase the altar, the beasts glaring down at the coffin with omniscient eyes. The spacious room holds a handful of coffins in its perimeter, but those don’t contain sabers but something else entirely. Nie Huaisang supervised the construction of this chamber and designed the decorations. Scarce, as his brother would have liked, but as regal as he deserves. The materials for his edification were brought from the back mountain of the Unclean Realm, so there is a piece of home here. This is the only place where he can mourn his brother properly.

“W-which one is it?”

Nie Huaisang ignores the question and inches toward the altar. “Open it.” Both cultivators swallow audibly at the request, but hang the torches from the nearest wall and obey.

Hostile energy oozes out in the shape of a dark, imperceptible mist you cannot see but that sends a frisson through your spine. Iron can melt and transform, but the spirit inside would prevail, free from the token caging it. The symbiosis works in life better than in the afterlife when ownerless sabers demand their fair share of resentfulness even after their masters’ deaths.

Gathering all the strength he can muster, Nie Huaisang climbs the steps of the altar and grips the rim of the stone coffin with both hands. How could this small space stench of blood if there’s none? The resentful energy is overwhelming, but if he has gone through this once, he can do it twice.

His trembling hand wraps around the hilt, still polished and unmarred after so many years without its owner. Nie Huaisang grits his teeth as he lifts the weighty saber. “Baxia,” he says, as if respecting the weapon would make it any less painful. The saber spirit only deems one person as its master. Nobody else can use it, and Nie Huaisang notes the saber isn’t happy to be wielded by him.

Since Nie Mingjue’s death, Baxia spent many years hidden in the Unclean Realm, disturbing the peace of the sect daily. But Nie Huaisang refused to bring it to the Xinglu Ridge Mountain after he found out his brother’s corpse was missing. He feared the same disturbed mind who stole and desecrated his tomb would hold his saber as token too. This was the only thing he had left to mourn his big brother, so only when it was safe, he brought Baxia here. Who would’ve thought mere months after he would have to disturb its peace again?

Baxia is a thirsty saber, holding it, Nie Huaisang feels its rage, the spirit refusing him, and yet he unsheathes the blade an inch. His heart thumps intently, his head is about to explode, and the room spins while a shrilling laugh resounds in his mind. He drops on one knee, weakened by a weapon beyond his cultivation. “Sect Leader Nie!” He lifts a hand to stop them and the blade sheathes itself. Not before Nie Huaisang can see the reflection of his own hazel eyes brimming in the orange light of the torches; not before the saber spirit whispers the cruelest words there are into his mind: _Where is your saber, Huaisang?_

“That was foolish of me,” he mutters. The cultivators share a terrifying glance as they hand him what seems like a simplistic blanket. Nothing further from the truth. Nie Huaisang carefully shrouds the saber in the spiritually imbued fabric, sealing as much as he can the resentful energy oozing out of the fierce spirit.

Why would he think he could be worthy of Baxia only because they share the same blood? His hands still shake as he wraps a golden, delicate chain around the bundle. There’s still one thing to take care of before they leave the castle.

The light of the torches follows him to the threshold of the chamber. “Seal the coffins.” Nie Huaisang turns around, hugging Baxia close to his body. After all, this is all he has left of Nie Mingjue and he might lose it too. “Use the talismans I prepared.” His subordinates may have been reluctant to obey him in the past, questioning his actions, or more like his lack of actions, but now that he has nothing to hide, they don’t dare to whisper head-shaker behind his back anymore.

The cultivators nod, hustling to stamp the talismans over the coffins surrounding the room. The faster they work the faster they can leave. Even the thought of the chilly gust of the night seems like a blessing. Resentful energy mingles with his own spiritual energy as he tries to keep the saber at bay. They have little time.

Once they’re done suppressing the coffins, they hurry to light the way out, granting Nie Huaisang more than one worried sidelong glance. He sports a darkened expression, almost painful when the scarce illumination plays tricks with the shadows in his countenance. Some would believe Sect Leader Nie’s beauty wouldn’t be affected by anything, and yet now his features contort in despair.

“How many corpses were the saber suppressing?” he whispers to his partner, but the enclosed space makes the inappropriate words reach Nie Huaisang’s ears.

“One hundred,” he answers. Ten extra coffins. Ten corpses each.

The premise is actually quite simple. The saber spirits need to fight evil beings even after their master’s death, so they make them fight pre-transformed corpses in an endless loop, both forces dangling from a tightrope; spirits fighting corpses and feeding on the resentful energy of the place. A trick to fake their usefulness in an intricate balance, offering corpses as burial goods instead of valuable treasures. Nie Huaisang made many mistakes at first, underestimating Baxia’s killing intent, but he figured out the calculations. Of course, its needs would be outrageous, this was Nie Mingjue’s saber, after all.

“O-one… hundred?”

“Baxia is a powerful weapon,” Nie Huaisang says, a sad smile stretching his lips. “A proud one too.” He always felt this arrangement offended the spirit inside, but he will never know to what extent his suspicions are true or not. The saber wasn’t much happier or calmed back inside a cave behind the Unclean Realm.

When the nightly wind slaps their faces, they feel a strange relief at being outside the terrifying man-eating castle. “A group will stay here through the night to make sure the balance is right and no corpses transform.”

“Yes, Sect Leader Nie.”

“Secure the wall before dawn.”

Nie Huaisang enters the forest, leaving behind the tomb of his ancestors as he holds onto the wrapped blanket. There’s a carriage waiting for him in the nearest path, and he gets inside with a sigh of relief, placing the saber in a chest covered in suppressing talismans. The moment it closes he feels as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders, but the increasing resentful energy invades the interior and turns the air heady with the scent of rotten blood. He frowns.

Craning his head out of the window, Nie Huaisang says: “It won’t be stable for long. We need to hurry.” Nie Huaisang presses his palm on the chest, offering a constant flow of spiritual energy to strengthen the bindings. _I trained,_ _dage_ _. Not the way you intended, but I trained to make you proud_ , he wryly thinks.

“We will arrive at the Unclean Realm in a few hours,” the cultivator says, clinging to the outside of the coach as the carriage propels forward thanks to two sturdy horses eager to leave the place. They wheeze and neigh as a protest. They know better than anyone else that what they carry is the deadliest thing lurking the Xinglu Ridge tonight. Seemingly harmless, but deadly to whoever dares to wield it for too long.

“Not home,” Nie Huaisang smirks, huddling into his mink coat. He still guards his secrets until he deems fit. “Lead the way to Yunmeng, we are going to Lotus Pier.”

 

Two nights have passed since Jiang Cheng left the Cloud Recesses and his heart has not been at ease ever since. That Lan Xichen has barely had any sleep would be an understatement. Tuning the guqin brings peace to his life in moments of need similarly as how he gets immersed in the Gusu Lan Sect strict routine. Waking up at six, going to sleep at nine, meals distributed at the same hours every day and announced by the toll of the bell or else he’ll forget. As that ingrained routine may be a ritual for the body, the familiar movements as he handles the qin is a ritual to ease the mind.

Strings tightened and secured by a butterfly knot; as much as possible without tearing. Lan Xichen masterfully twists the jade tuning pegs one by one, knowing by heart when to stop or when to go a tad further. If his mind wanders too far from the task, the silky string will pop and break. But this spring-like morning, determination guides his deft fingers. Lan Xichen has gotten used to the loneliness faster than he thought he would. Somehow, he was accustomed to it besides the times he spent with Lan Wangji and those in which his sworn brother required his presence and treated him like close family. He lived in a lie since Nie Mingjue’s death and probably years before that. Even now, the memories act as the consolation for his grief when his heart should be filled with hatred toward Jin Guangyao and his lies. But it’s not, he mourned for Nie Mingjue with a still enamored heart and closed himself to love, and he also mourns Jin Guangyao and the close friend he was even though it was all a treacherous lie. Lies he has to live with now, but aware of them as he’d be of needles through his flesh.

The only moment Lan Xichen drowns in hopelessness is when he dwells on what happened to Nie Mingjue after he was killed; on the torture Jin Guangyao submitted him to, severing his body and his soul, scattering around the proofs of his crime and keeping his head for recreation. A chill runs through his body and his heart sinks in despair. How could Jin Guangyao maintain his façade for so long? Even at the Guanyin temple, his mad brother reasoned his actions, past and present as something unavoidable, but the truth is the fate of his lover could have been avoided, somehow… by him. Firm hands hover over the guqin, and as a sigh leaves his lips, his forefinger and thumb pluck at two strings, eliciting a sob of the soul.

The harmonics of the fine tuning resonate through the hanshi, his fingers moving from one position to another, his eyes closed, his ears registering the subtleties of the notes and how they ring and disappear. Sequence after sequence, as he has done since he was a child and his uncle would teach them both as they observed and mimicked his actions. In no time, his guqin is ready to draw out melodies for the mind or soul, but he has no will to play them anymore. Not for amusement.

He misses Lan Wangji when a note rings so pleasantly as if he himself had plucked the string. It brings a faint smile to his lips. His brother always excelled at playing the guqin, honing his skills with unnerving patience and a dose of stubbornness. He would compose for days and educate his body to play, eyes closed, his mind at ease, heartstrings tugging at the guqin more efficiently than his fingernails. Lan Xichen prefers the shrill notes of the xiao and the imperfections of the wind or a ragged breath in the midst of battle. He could draw high-pitched notes that would exorcise any resentful ghost unfortunate enough to listen to them. The two Jades of Lan made quite the duet in their youth.

Lan Xichen stops with his left hand the long note reverberating, and opens his eyes to admire the fine, polished wood of the instrument. The thought of it covered in blood shrinks his heart, recalling the vivid dream that portrays all his fears in the open and reminds him that not even the thousand calming ceremonies of his youth prepared him for the emotional blow that he went through. Perhaps Lan Wangji had a similar fate entangled in his life, but he got his fair share of heaven in the end.

Nie Mingjue used to sit behind him as he played with the excuse of learning -how foolish of him to believe him- when his only intentions sneaked underneath the layers of garments to feel his jade skin with greedy hands. Naughty kisses would trail the slender line of his neck, and once his shoulder was bared and his sash half undone, they would melt in a warm, languid kiss. Lan Xichen would laugh endlessly at his shamelessness until the clear sound of his voice would turn into luscious moans. There was no way to escape his hot-blooded love, not when they were young cultivators at the peak of success, not in the middle of a devastating war, much less when they believed themselves free of anguish and loss. How naïve they were for a moment!

The young Sect Leader Nie had always been in love with him, Lan Xichen knew, but prudence kept him at bay until there was no reason to do so anymore. He was deeply in love too, returning his feelings since their very first kiss. They were a secret for far too long, a haven, a tryst, something to pursue and catch in Discussion Conferences and night-hunts, especially afterward, sheltered in a darkened room filled with their body heats and muffled gasps. War changed everything for them. What they believed a youthful game turned into a deep-settled sentiment of sheer love.

Lan Xichen thought Nie Mingjue was dead, but he returned to his arms unharmed and despite their opposite tempers, they were not a secret anymore. Everyone would gossip about the irascible Chifeng-zun and the virtuous Zewu-jun turning their bond of sworn brothers into something else. People even expected them to become cultivation partners, but Nie Mingjue’s temper became more and more extreme, his fixation with Jin Guangyao built a wall between them and his fits of rage made them fight more often than not.

And yet both knew they loved each other beyond comprehension.

Their time at the Cloud Recesses was always peaceful and too short, being both sect leaders, their obligations kept them apart most of the time. Their moments at Jinlin Tower were a mixture of gauged quarrels and unmeasurable passion. Nie Mingjue knew black or white and nothing in between, and as much as it pained him, Lan Xichen loved him for it too. They saw each other like no one else, and they showed it off whenever they had the chance. Maybe jealousy filtered in Jin Guangyao’s heart at the time, but he couldn’t grasp to the idea of belonging to anyone else other than Nie Mingjue. He still hasn’t, and never will.

Lan Xichen realizes he’s been unblinkingly staring at the guqin but that his fingers started playing Song of Clarity as a habit. For himself, for him, or for both, Lan Xichen cannot tell. The melody brings a myriad of pleasant and terrifying memories all at once, and though many drift through his mind harmlessly, one lingers…

Their times at the Unclean Realm used to be peaceful until he realized Nie Mingjue secluded himself there as his temper worsened over time. He lost his appetite for night-hunts and his interest in Discussion Conferences; back then, Nie Mingjue cared for his training and Nie Huaisang’s and especially enjoyed arguing with Jin Guangyao. Lan Xichen had stopped visiting so often so their younger sworn brother could play the guqin for him instead, hoping they would solve their grudges. The Song of Clarity would cleanse his mind, aid with the saber spirit, and quench his ire, little he knew back then he was signing his death sentence.

One afternoon, Lan Xichen arrived at the Nie Residence and found Nie Mingjue frenzied. Jin Guangyao was consoling an injured Nie Huaisang in his room, the remnants of a smoky fire pit in the middle of the training grounds, and Nie Mingjue destroying his own chambers, kicking tables and punching wooden walls. It was madness.

“Why won’t you believe me?” Nie Mingjue shouted. “Why, Xichen? Have I ever lied to you?”

“No, but your temper…” Lan Xichen said. He found out upon Jin Guangyao’s arrival, Nie Mingjue had burned Nie Huaisang’s possessions as a punishment which only worsened his already sensitive temperament. “You’re biased, A-Yao means well, you…”

“I am the one biased now!!!” Nie Mingjue threw a teapot against a wall, but Lan Xichen didn’t flinch nor back off. The loud shout made the walls tremble, and he was sure any servant prying outside would’ve burst out in fear at the noises inside. Lan Xichen only knew the quarrel between his two sworn brothers had to end. “He’s been lying to me for too long!” Nie Mingjue paced the room like a tiger in a cage. “He promised me Xue Yang’s head in two months and If I don’t have justice, I will find it myself!”

“You’re being unreasonable!” Lan Xichen reached out for him, grasping his upper arm, but Nie Mingjue shook him off with a groan.

“Unreasonable?” He let out a wry snort. “He’s a double-edged sword, and he’s poisoned your ears too.”

“You didn’t need to push him down the stairs and call him the son of a whore,” Lan Xichen chastised him for what had happened a few days ago during his last visit to Jinlin Tower. A hint of shame flashed through Nie Mingjue’s cheeks at being called out by someone he respects and loves. “Mingjue-xiong…”

“You don’t understand.” His voice cracked under the pressure. Nie Mingjue turned his back at him and pressed a palm on the wall.

Lan Xichen inched toward him, his voice tender. “You quarrel with Huaisang, you quarrel with A-Yao, and now you quarrel with me too,” he said. His hand found his shoulder, and he frowned when Nie Mingjue trembled. He oozed resentment, he could sense his meridians bursting with spiritual energy and his golden core out of control. “You had never raised your voice at me, dage.” Lan Xichen knew him so well. They had cultivated together countless times and something was very wrong. If only he had known the symptoms of the Collection of Turmoil back then.

“You haven’t seen what I’ve seen,” Nie Mingjue breathed out in a whisper. “You only know one side of him, and I don’t know how…” He turned about and met his gaze. “I don’t know how to make you understand.” His eyes were bleary, and it broke his heart at the time; the desperation, the pain, the inner turmoil seeping through every pore of his skin. A deep frown settled between his thick brows. Somehow it reminded him of a misunderstood kid after a scolding, and his heart melted in the spot.

“I see you struggling.” Lan Xichen cupped his face with loving hands. “You’re hurt, and it hurts me too. I‘m sorry, dage…” His words were sincere but offered no consolation. Nie Mingjue pressed their foreheads together, his arms linking around his waist, his body pursuing his warmth as if he were freezing in a wintry night. Lan Xichen cast a coat of spiritual energy for both, trying to heal and soothe his mind.

“It’s not your fault,” Nie Mingjue said and then repeated a hundred times. “I’ll fix this. I have to.” Lan Xichen closed his eyes, biting back the words he wanted to say. _Let it be. Forget about past grudges. Focus on me, on us_. But before they left his mouth, familiar, wet lips pressed against his and he forgot about reason, he only knew of him.

“Dage,” he whispered into his mouth before his back touched the floor with a thump. Nie Mingjue was all over him, tugging and tearing at his garments, prying open the collars of his robe to mouth against his neck. “Dage…” His forehead ribbon unfurled, coaxed by him.

Nie Mingjue knew no reason either. His hot-blooded passion took over for both. Deft hands worked open his sash while Lan Xichen fought the relentless mouth kissing, biting, and pulling at his lips, his hands also sneaking underneath his lower garments, swooping them down enough to free him. He felt steel-hard against his hand and salty and hot in his mouth. Lan Xichen wrapped both hands around him and met Nie Mingjue’s frantic thrusts. He wheezed into his mouth, cried out his name and took him too in an ungentle, tight fist that let Lan Xichen breathless as he moaned.

They were a mess; of love, of rage, of the many unsaid things between them. Consolation came in many ways back then, one of them sex. Nie Mingjue was drenched in sweat and came thoroughly all over his stomach, and Lan Xichen joined him while tears trickled down his cheeks. Fight or fuck, both were as smooth as breathing for Nie Mingjue. Their relief left them exhausted for a moment, the room spun, and the only thing he could hold on to was his kisses.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Nie Mingjue whispered into his mouth, his half-hard length softening in his hands.

“I love you, always have, always will,” Lan Xichen answered. A genuine smile stretched his lips, his body shaking in the aftereffects of a stolen orgasm. Nie Mingjue cleaned their mess with his sleeve and Lan Xichen fixed his garments faster than his breath became normal again. “I have to leave.”

“I know,” Nie Mingjue said even though the pang of sadness became obvious in his words. “The martial arts conference is tomorrow,” he said casually as though inviting him to stay.

“But you don’t participate anymore.” Lan Xichen shook his head. “And I cannot admire you, bared chested and sweating by the exertions.” He finished the words with a peck on Nie Mingjue’s lips and he was blessed by a hearty chuckle from him. He was still shaken, but he fooled himself believing he’d be okay. “I’ll be back tomorrow, but,” Lan Xichen hesitated, “should I play for you now?”

While Nie Mingjue arranged his garments, he shook his head at him. “Jin Guangyao is here. He can play for me later if it pleases you.” Lan Xichen smiled at him. “And I’ll make up with Huaisang in the morning, take him to night-hunt or something.”

Lan Xichen laughed as if nothing was wrong anymore. He cupped his face with both hands. “Oh, dage!” And kissed his mouth as he had done so many times, a gesture familiar and soothing. “I wish I could stay tonight.” His lover wasn’t sated, nor was he even though his legs still trembled by the sudden encounter.

“Stay,” Nie Mingjue mumbled as a plea. His arms wrapped around his waist and his head hid in the crook of his neck. It settled a queasiness in his stomach that he shook off as mere nerves.

“Tomorrow we’ll have all night to ourselves,” Lan Xichen said, kissing his neck and squirming out of his arms.

“You promise?”

“I promise,” Lan Xichen said.

“I promised,” Lan Xichen says. “And I failed you.” Unannounced tears trickle down his cheeks at the memory. Nothing could have prevented the ill wishes from their sworn brother and the collection of turmoil combined. It was the last push Nie Mingjue needed to crumble under his fingers. Those were their last moments together. A sloppy encounter led by sorrow and anger, physical comfort because there were no other words they could have said to each other. They knew in their hearts, why say it out loud?

He should’ve stayed, he should’ve played for him, he should’ve done so many things that he didn’t. Lan Xichen was naïve, blind, and trusted Jin Guangyao until the very end of his miserable life. He was his little brother, someone to protect and shield, to cherish and love because he had a harsh life, a shameful background, and a poorer future. And he ended up taking the most important thing from him. The love of his life, Nie Mingjue. He ripped his heart out and played with it at will, and Lan Xichen allowed it.

Lan Xichen hangs Liebing and Shuoyue by his sash with a new determination searing in his heart. If there is a chance to make it right, to free his soul, he knows how far he will go. Securing his guqin at his back, Lan Xichen smiles, the breeze drying up his tears. Nie Mingjue won’t rot in a coffin. He deserves better, and he knows now how far will he go for him: “As far as it takes,” he whispers, determination ruling his strides.

His destination: Yunmeng.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not over the heartbreak that gave me writing this chapter ｡ﾟ(ﾟ∩´﹏`∩ﾟ)ﾟ｡ but good news, we're going to Lotus Pier...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added the "Novel Spoilers" tag, just in case╭(♡･ㅂ･)و ̑̑

From the bow of the ship and resembling a Jade statue, Lan Xichen admires the bursting activity of Yunmeng. Nothing in the outside reveals his inner turmoil about what this trip might bring. He left the Cloud Recesses in a rush, informing his uncle of his intentions to roam the cultivation world and night-hunt on his own. Lan Qiren squinted his eyes at him and gave a long stroke to his goatee, but he was in no position to admonish the Sect Leader and Lan Wangji took the same path, being where the chaos is. The youngest disciples were in awe to see the Sect Leader of the Gusu Lan Sect in the flesh. Rumors said he hadn’t left secluded meditation since the incident and that he would follow his father’s fate, distancing himself from the world. But the reasons why he left and where Lan Xichen kept to himself.

A row of food stalls covers the pier from one end to the other, and as the wooden ship approaches the shore, the smell of many foods mingled in one invades his nostrils. Sweet and spicy, so different from the mild meals of his sect. After paying the boatman, he gracefully lands on the dock, attracting many sidelong glances from the common folk. Even though he has covered his pristine appearance with a white cloak, his beauty and status snitch him as he elegantly walks among the crowd, the ends of the forehead ribbon fluttering in the wind and the hem of his robes making the clouded pattern drift as it follows his sway.

The sun fuses with the peaceful waters as it sets, painting the sky in orange and yellow before it turns a deep blue. The pier extends as far as the sight allows. Lan Xichen smiles when the many lanterns of the pagodas and anchored boats lighten up in beautiful succession. Preparations for the night’s arrival. No one would believe how many years ago, everything was burnt down to ashes and had to be rebuilt from scratch.

His admiration for Jiang Cheng amazes him sometimes. He knows him since he was fifteen years old and has only seen him grow stronger. The revelation about his golden core didn’t extend farther and became an unsustainable rumor, probably because no one believed the nonsense coming out of Jin Guangyao’s mouth by the end of the night, or perhaps because there is no precedent in such thing being possible. But Lan Xichen knew the truth, he saw it in Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng’s eyes. He was by no means oblivious to pain and suffering, and their lack of words spoke for them. Nothing pained Jiang Cheng more than acknowledging the golden core inside him was his brother's all along. Wei Wuxian’s selflessness caught him off guard, hence the way he cried not minding who was watching. He also respects him because of that.

The sumptuous sight of Lotus Pier rises before his eyes, an intricate lotus carved at each side of the front wall, purple banners dangling in the wind. Jiang Cheng returned the glory and success to his sect, built a home, offered a future to many new cultivators who joined him in his crusade for justice and stayed afterward, but he reigns alone and will never get back the family that was snatched from him. Everything comes with a price, and he paid the highest.

The two cultivators guarding the threshold bow politely as they recognize him. “Sect Leader Lan.” They escort him inside as if they were waiting for him, not at all surprised. The woodwork of the interior of the building is impressive, stern, sturdy, meant to last a thousand years. But it somehow lacks the warmth of a home, the one he finds in the hanshi, in the classroom or even the disciples’ dormitories; or perhaps it’s because he’s a foreigner and his mind is still rambling about what he’s doing here. Secrecy leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

They leave the main hall behind and guide him through luxuriously decorated chambers, and tea rooms, until Lan Xichen enters an inner living room comfortably arranged, probably for the personal use of the sect leader. There are pillows scattered around a table and delicate curtains in purple and gold draping down the ceiling. The warmth of candles brightens up the atmosphere and the scent of the incense is subtle but pleasant. The guards bow again and leave without uttering a word, and Lan Xichen stands in the middle of the room. A servant enters with a tray carrying a steamy teapot and two cups and leaves as if they were never there.

“Sect Leader Lan.” The familiar voice comes from behind a wooden column. He swivels about and finds a pair of hazel eyes staring at him over the leaves of a hand fan. Long, billowy robes drape down his slender body, his dark sea of hair tied in a half top knot while the fronts frame his face and enhance is already astonishing beauty. The two brothers couldn’t be more different from each other even if they tried.

“Sect Leader Nie.” The tension between them is so thick you could cut the air with a knife. Nie Huaisang dawdles his way toward the table, beckoning Lan Xichen to sit.

Taking a deep breath, he unties the cloak around his shoulders and tosses it aside, sitting primly, straight and appropriate, the long sleeves pooling at his sides. He rests his guqin at his right, but his sword stays at his back, ready to be unsheathed even though he reads no ill intentions in the room or his host. Nie Huaisang occupies the bamboo seat on the opposite spot and closes his fan with a flick of his wrist. “I hope your trip was pleasant enough,” he says.

“Hm.” Unable to find the right words, Lan Xichen stares at Nie Huaisang as he serves the tea. The noise of the hot water pouring unhurriedly, and the way he lowers and lifts the teapot to stir the tea is mesmerizing; his movements elegant and gauged. He seems well, happy even, far from the crying boy that would hug his thighs or Jin Guangyao’s overwhelmed by his obligations. There was a time when he pitied him.

“Sect Leader Jiang will join us soon,” Nie Huaisang explains, leaving the teapot on the tray before he fans himself lazily out of habit. “An unexpected issue kept him busy today.”

“I see.” Lan Xichen gets ahold of his cup, his gaze fixed on the almost transparent liquid and the barely perceptible steam oozing up. A golden hue tinges the white porcelain as the tea sets, tiny leaves sinking to the bottom. Lan Xichen was not prepared to be received by him even though he knew Nie Huaisang had to be involved. Nie Mingjue was his brother after all, and they were almost in-laws toward the end of his life.

“It’s not poisoned,” Nie Huaisang jests and breaks the pregnant silence between them. He cradles the cup in his palm and sips as a smirk stretches his lips. “Lotus tea.” He rests the cup on the table. “A delicacy of Yunmeng. I prepared this myself, it has calming properties, and…”

“Why am I here?” Lan Xichen interrupts. “You haven’t invited me to have tea.”

Nie Huaisang covers partly his face, but his eyes never leave Lan Xichen’s. “I have not, indeed. And we need not fill the silence with idle talk either, but I would suggest waiting for him.” He means Jiang Cheng.

Lan Xichen nods and sips the hot beverage. He hadn’t seen Nie Huaisang since the coffin sealing ceremony. How did he have the heart to endure it without bursting into tears? Lan Xichen stood there impassibly and showing no emotions, but his insides were retorted in a mixture of sorrow, regret, and pain.

He wished Lan Wangji had been by his side, but he held upright and alone while his sworn brothers were buried under a cursed mountain behind the Unclean Realm. A bunch of cultivators murmured and gossiped about Jin Guangyao’s deeds, Nie Mingjue’s injustice, and how Lan Xichen had been a victim of the circumstances all this time. He hated the fake condolences spat on his face from people that didn’t care about the two souls forever trapped in a coffin and consumed by resentful energy.

Only someone else wore the grief outside and inside: Nie Huaisang. He shed a few tears even if he covered them with his ever-present folding fan. They crossed a glare of bleary eyes and the same concoction of emotions. But they didn’t share more than a polite greeting; everything was too recent, the wounds still open, there was no need to sprinkle salt all over them in a moment like that. Nie Huaisang had overstepped his trust and Lan Xichen could forgive but never forget.

The resentment surrounding the coffin seeped inside the attendants and lingered for several days. The banquet afterward was a success though, and everyone praised Nie Huaisang, how everything was beautifully arranged and their needs covered for as long as their stay lasted. Having the Sect Leader Nie in good terms seemed like a must in the cultivation world. The Lanling Jin Sect was a disaster, the Gusu Lan Sect never raised to stand out above others, and the Yunmeng Jiang Sect was focused on controlling the chaos after the Guanyin temple mess. Many lesser sects shivered in fear for another power struggle to tumble their world, but only peace followed the fall of Jin Guangyao.

The sun finally sets, and the apparent calming silence doesn’t please him anymore. The memory of the coffin ceremony has raised a lot of unwanted feelings. “I used to be a brother to you.”

“You still are,” Nie Huaisang quips. “My brother had you in high esteem -a sly smile stretches his lips- you were like family to us.” Before Lan Xichen parts his lips and forms an answer, Nie Huaisang makes a harsh statement: “You wouldn’t have believed me. You didn’t believe him and nor did I.” Lan Xichen’s whole body tenses, over his thighs, his hands clench into two tight fists.

“Huaisang,” he warns.

“Don’t get me wrong, I carry my own share of guiltiness over my shoulders.” Nie Huaisang was also oblivious to his brother’s struggle and thought his grudges with Jin Guangyao were as playful as the ones they had about training and cultivating.

“When did you find out?” Lan Xichen had wanted to ask him since the coffin sealing ceremony.

“Not long after the funeral. The first one.” Nie Huaisang moves the fan away, staring listlessly at the starry sky that paints one of the windows. There is no playful smile on his lips, and his eyes are downcast as if he were lost in his own treacherous memories. “Soon afterward, there was activity around our Ancestral Burial Castle.” He shoots Lan Xichen a knowing glance.

“I know. Dage told me about it a long time ago,” Lan Xichen says. “Jin Guangyao and I also helped you in the past, regarding that issue.”

After a wry smile, Nie Huaisang continues: “It seemed like no one had broke in and I discarded the incident as sheer luck; if it wasn’t a problem, I wouldn’t have to solve it. Perhaps an unfortunate group of gravediggers was smart enough to leave things be.” He sips the tea again, gathering his thoughts. “It only occurred to me after a while that someone might be looking for Nie Mingjue’s saber, but I got suspicious and tracked down the people that knew about our special way of burying our ancestors’ weapons, and of course, I secured Baxia where no one could find it.”

Lan Xichen listens with a furrow between his eyebrows. “It was a narrow list that meant nothing and I discarded my own paranoid thoughts for too long.” A pregnant pause grows uncomfortably long between them as they lock their gazes. “It wasn’t until Jin Guangyao questioned me about Baxia that I suspected him.”

“Where is Nie Mingjue’s saber?”

“Xichen-ge,” Nie Huaisang says in the tone he had come to him for help countless times in the past. “I am only giving you my truth because I believe you deserve it, but don’t expect me to stand under the bright sun for you to scrutinize my actions.”

“How did you know it was Jin Guangyao?” Lan Xichen asks. He cares nothing for who’s responsible or why, but what escaped him and not Nie Huaisang?.

“Jin Guangyao knew about the Nie Sect secrets, but I feared I wouldn’t find out anything. He was the perfect Chief Cultivator, coming to the rescue when Jin Guangshan’s heir died, and uplifting the Lanling Jin Sect when his father perished. He was perfect in front of everyone’s eyes, always so polite, remembering every name, every face.” Nie Huaisang pauses and closes the fan. “And every grudge.” He sighs. “I decided to dig into his past, and as it unraveled, the pieces slowly fell into place.”

“You also played your role to perfection,” Lan Xichen retorts, remembering the helpless Nie Huaisang who would come to them with tears welling in his eyes for one thing or another.

“I needed to look harmless. I had done a good job so far because I never held ill intentions toward anyone; I never wanted to be a great warrior or cultivate for power, but I had a purpose now,” Nie Huaisang says and the playful smile stretching his lips disappears. “Suddenly my brother’s attitude toward Jin Guangyao started to make sense, and I knew something was wrong.”

As much as it pained him, Lan Xichen realizes that, at the time, if Nie Huaisang had come to him for help with intangible tales to badmouth Jin Guangyao he wouldn’t have believed him.

“Eventually, I faced a dead end. Jin Guangyao knew how to cover his tracks, and out of desperation, I opened my brother’s tomb only to found out in horror that his body was gone,” Nie Huaisang says, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I almost die of a fright when I realized it had been stolen right under my nose.” As if it had been yesterday, he remembers covering everything up, making the Nie cultivators loyal to him keep it a secret out of Chifeng-zun’s respect. His corpse had disappeared from the Nie family cemetery and no one knew why or how.

It took endless ceremonies to find the location of what he believed was his corpse when what they found was only his left hand. Nie Huaisang remembers how the saber helped them. Evocation wasn’t working, his soul was severed hence mute, and the fierce spirit in Baxia guided them through the darkest weeks of his life until they found the first piece of him. The one that started a dangerous journey.

“I cannot imagine how you might have felt,” Lan Xichen says sincerely. “But I would’ve helped you find the culprit.”

“Except the culprit was among us, and I had no proof, only gossips, rumors, my big brother’s suspicions…” Nie Huaisang says, apparently calmed, but his fist rests over the table and his knuckles are whiter than his fine, alabaster skin. “Jin Guangyao cut him into pieces even when dage was no longer a threat,” he snarls. “Why did he had to do that? Why did he have to keep his head as a prize?”

“The Oath…” Lan Xichen mutters.

“What?”

“Our sworn brothers’ oath,” Lan Xichen says at the verge of crying even though his face shows no other emotion that an endless sorrow. _Heaven and Earth thus sanctify. Sun and moon thus witness._ _On this day, at this place, we pledge an oath of brotherhood._ _Henceforth we will: strengthen our relationship, share in the fortune and misfortune, be of the same mind, go through life and death together._ “Should there be treachery, so known by many, may his corpse be dismembered by five horses,” he finishes out loud. Nie Huaisang’s face retorts in a grimace of pain as if Lan Xichen had just stabbed him.

“The son of a prostitute, indeed,” Nie Huaisang mutters, covering his face with the folding fan. Lan Xichen has no heart to chastise him for the words as the image of Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao trapped in a coffin for all eternity sends a frisson through his spine. “Do you really think… after his death… his corpse… he…” Nie Huaisang fails to put into words the horror his brother went through.

They share a strangled glance, the same horrors playing in their minds at the same time. Painful for both, forever ingrained as the unerasable truth of what happened. Lan Xichen averts his gaze and finishes the lukewarm tea in his cup while they both let their hearts beat at the tempo of reason once more. “Did you know about the whereabouts of the head?”

Nie Huaisang regains some composure and even dares to pull his mouth upward in a mischievous smile. “I knew about a head, and a secret room, and the Yiling Patriarch’s manuscript, but I was never close enough to get any real proof.”

“Mo Xuanyu,” Lan Xichen says the name that had been unfamiliar to him until Lan Wangji brought him to the Cloud Recesses.

“As I said,” Nie Huaisang says with a hint of pride. “I dug into his past and it paid off… if Jin Guangyao had killed that old prostitute and his only half-brother alive, things would’ve been very different for him. Who would’ve thought he wasn’t perfect, after all?”

“Some of your actions were reckless,” Lan Xichen chastises, forgetting the etiquette. Nie Huaisang is not his little brother but a sect leader, and yet his only answer is a wry chuckle as he fans himself. “One more thing.” Nie Huaisang nods, wishing he had served wine instead of tea, but he expected Jiang Cheng to be back before Lan Xichen arrived. A little miscalculation on his part. “Did Jin Guangyao really move?”

Nie Huaisang narrows his gaze into two slits that only let hate seep through. “He deserved it.”

“You could have wielded the sword yourself,” Lan Xichen says with a calmness he was born with. The night of the Guanyin temple he felt many things, fooled by his sworn brother, guilt regarding the death of his beloved, and he also fell for Nie Huaisang’s lies. Having Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse so close and so out of his reach. He couldn’t even recognize his soulless eyes. It’s a scene that will pursue him in nightmares for the rest of his days.

“You have no idea about the things I’ve done for my big brother,” Nie Huaisang hisses. “Even if you claimed to love him, you would have never had the nerve to did what I did.”

“I do love him,” Lan Xichen raises his voice enough to startle Nie Huaisang. “I loved both my sworn brothers.” For the first time since he arrived, Nie Huaisang witnesses a similar pain in him than the one that lurks inside him. “And I was an accomplice in Nie Mingjue’s death and stabbed Jin Guangyao through the heart.”

“I never blamed you for dage’s death.”

“There was a time you relied on me, you could’ve confided in me, and I would’ve…” He stops himself. Nothing can change the past, not his words nor his frustration. “You used me too in the end,” Lan Xichen says, now that they’re airing the truth and they may never have the chance to do so again.

Nie Huaisang closes the fan shut, slamming his hand on the table. “And you would’ve believed me?” He scoffs. “The head-shaker? The good-for-nothing? I did what I had to do!” His voice cracks and trembles as it rises and his anger conquers him. Lan Xichen surprises himself staring at how visibly altered he is as though he had lost control of his emotions all at once after being so collected for the whole evening. “I put no one at danger besides the ones that could not be helped. I had not the background nor the cultivation to attack Jin Guangyao in the open, and you know it. He deserved it!”

“Huaisang,” Lan Xichen says, frowning when the anger and the rage glittering in his eyes remind him of Nie Mingjue.

“If I had been so careless as to come to you for help, I would’ve ended up dead long ago, dismembered like my brother, and then who would have avenged him? What would have been of my Sect and my people? My brother’s legacy!” Nie Huaisang grunts, his heart running a mile an hour. “Certainly not you, Zewu-jun!” He realizes he has crossed the line, and silence follows his outburst. Lan Xichen is not the one to blame for his brother’s fate, in fact, Nie Mingjue would be terribly ashamed of him if he knew how he has spoken to him. When an apology is about to leave his lips, Lan Xichen mumbles.

“I played the Song of Turmoil on myself,” Lan Xichen confesses. “I wanted to prove Jin Guangyao was innocent until the end because I was biased and blind.” He meets Nie Huaisang’s teary eyes, too tired to mind the harsh words that left him earlier. “I despise he used me to kill who I loved more than my own life.”

“He used us all to get what he wanted,” Nie Huaisang says, fanning himself eagerly to dry out the tears that trickled down his cheeks and reddened his complexion. “I apologize for the unkind words. You didn’t deserve them.” Lan Xichen nods, but he doesn’t thank him for the truth. It was his right to know.

Unfolding his guqin, Lan Xichen places it over his thighs and takes a deep breath. A long note conquers the room loud and clear, and many more follow in a well-known tune he hadn’t played for someone else for so long. The Song of Clarity with the full extent of his spiritual power echoes in the room and invades them both in a seamless sensation of peace. “Thank you,” Nie Huaisang whispers, mesmerized by the man that had his brother utterly devoted to him from day to night. They loved each other so much and yet fate made a foul play on them.

The tunefulness reaches his heart and soothes his soul, and after harsh words and truths, they share the same silence now filled by pleasant memories of a hall in the Unclean Realm, of Nie Mingjue’s laugh whenever Lan Xichen was around, on how his temper turned down a notch that he even wanted to see what fans he had been painting and designing. It’s like a dream that soon vanishes as the notes ring only to die into the silence. But the peaceful atmosphere remains.

“My condition is not as bad as my brother’s,” Nie Huaisang says.

“Your cultivation is by no means weak, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen quips.

“But a qi deviation will most likely be the cause of my death.” Lan Xichen lifts his eyes from the guqin at the same time Nie Huaisang straightens and glances over his shoulder.

“Not if I can help it.” Jiang Cheng arrives and enters the room as he always does, enveloped in an eerie aura of elegance. His stomach curls deliciously at the sight every single time. In his presence, he feels tiny and undeserving of him. “Sect Leader Lan. Sect Leader Nie.”

“Sect Leader Jiang.”

“Uh, formalities…” Nie Huaisang fans himself, uncomfortable that Jiang Cheng has listened to his brooding, but he forgets about it when he sits by his side and the hand with Zidian on his ring finger rests over his leg. He slides his hand over and hustles to cover the sincere smile on his lips before it’s too late.

“Welcome to Lotus Pier,” Jiang Cheng says, surprised that the atmosphere between them isn’t as bad as he expected. “Have you told him?”

“I was waiting for you,” Nie Huaisang says. “Have you taken care of the issue at the border?”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head and knits his eyebrows. “I have left a group of cultivators there, but I’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Lan Xichen witnesses the tender scene, aware that if he wasn’t there, the exchange would be very different. The way Nie Huaisang looks at Jiang Cheng reminds him of Nie Mingjue’s puppy eyes while he stared at him without listening to a word he said. He’s glad they found each other, perhaps reunited; he remembers how close Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng, and Nie Huaisang were in their younger days. Lan Xichen won’t ask, and won’t tell, but he’s glad for both.

“Zewu-jun,” Jiang Cheng says, locking eyes with him. “I know you came here under a cryptic premise and I won’t beat around the bush any longer.”

“Secrecy is a must,” Nie Huaisang says. “If the cultivation world finds out what we intend to do, they’d surely stop us.”

Lan Xichen’s expression turns stern. He promised to himself he’d go as far as it’d take, but will he? “You said there is a way to… save Nie Mingjue’s soul.”

Two cultivators from the sect enter the room carrying a heavy chest. “Right on time,” Jiang Cheng says, following them with his gaze until they leave the heavy cargo near the table. It’s wrapped in chains that they pry open. The moment they do, the scent of blood and resentment fills the room and takes away the peaceful atmosphere Lan Xichen had created with his music moments ago.

“What’s inside?” Lan Xichen’s eyes are fixed on the suppressing talismans stuck to the surface while a thrilling fear courses through him.

“Open it and leave,” Jiang Cheng commands, and the cultivators do as asked, scooting toward the door right after. A gust of wind closes all the doors and windows when Jiang Cheng lifts his hand, and Nie Huaisang gives him an anxious glance before he takes out of the chest a bundle of white and gold and lays it on the table in front of them. Jiang Cheng imbues spiritual energy to lessen the strength of the resentful energy. “This has been quite hard to suppress.”

“What’s inside?” Lan Xichen asks again, now meeting Nie Huaisang’s eyes.

“Baxia,” he answers before the folding fan covers the smirk stretching his lips.

“Mingjue-xiong’s saber…” His heart thumps at the resentful energy that oozes out of the sword in front of him even with a deity chain and a spiritual blanket trying to suppress it. “What have you done?” He glares at Jiang Cheng. “And what are you planning to do?” Lan Xichen meets those hazel eyes and his stomach churns.

 _As far as it takes_ , he reminds himself before his eyes land on Baxia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧  
> I can't tell you how much I enjoyed writing this chapter and trying to figure out Nie Huaisang past actions. They deserved a heart to heart (and oh boy, do we have those in this fic.... )
> 
> The oath is a translation by the audio drama translators not by myself. You can check their work [here.](https://kittykat2010.tumblr.com/mdzsaudio) The scene is at the beginning of the episode S2e08 if you're curious!
> 
> Also, Sin posted [this](https://twitter.com/sinenceq/status/1116495842805014533) a few weeks ago and it inspired the "It's not poisoned" punch line xDDD
> 
> See y'all next ~~Thursday~~ Friday with a spicy, long chapter... (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW! (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

There is no trace of the seamless calmness that filled the atmosphere mere moments ago. The scent of blood and the vortex of resentful energy have them bedazzled as they stare at the blanket that was a pristine white a night ago. Now a patch of rust dirty its surface. At the pregnant silence that holds him in awe, Lan Xichen asks again: “Why have you disinterred his weapon?”

Nie Huaisang sighs, shooting an anxious glance to Jiang Cheng before he focuses on the saber resting on the table. “I hid Baxia since dage’s death and the suspicions I told you about. I feared of someone stealing it as they stole his corpse. It had been in a cave at the border of Qinghe and…”

“That’s why it’s like this? You haven’t fed the saber spirit since Mingjue-xiong’s death?”

Nie Huaisang shakes his head. “Xichen-ge, the saber spirit hunted on its own all those years. We’d go regularly to clean up dead walking corpses, monsters, and faes near the cave. It wasn’t enough, but that’s because Baxia is insatiable.”

“We are aware of the dangers it attracts,” Jiang Cheng intervenes. “But it won’t stay in Lotus Pier for long.”

“I ordered the construction of a mausoleum for Baxia after the coffin sealing ceremony and it has been there ever since, properly suppressed,” Nie Huaisang says, but Lan Xichen stares at him, drinking his words with a furrow between his brows. He hasn’t grasped the nature of them yet. “We believe my brother’s saber can absorb and suppress the resentful energy consuming his soul.”

Lan Xichen’s heart stops at a halt, and his eyes meet Nie Huaisang’s. They are two pools of hope and honesty which he never thought he’d see in him again. “But his soul shattered, lost forever.” He recalls that fateful night again, how his fierce corpse didn’t answer to the xiao’s melody nor Wei Wuxian’s commands, how he was drowned in hate, guided by rage and resentfulness. Blindly, Nie Mingjue harmed everyone in sight with no consideration. “Dage’s fierce corpse lost consciousness, nothing could bring it back. We tried.”

“Not necessarily,” Nie Huaisang adds.

“Our priority at the Guanyin temple was to get rid of the menace,” Jiang Cheng says. “But did we right Chifeng-zun?”

After a deep sigh, Lan Xichen speaks: “How have you reached such conclusions?”

“It is not so different from using corpses about to transform. The saber spirits want evil beings to fight,” Nie Huaisang fans himself distractedly even though the topic is everything but light. “Baxia alone wasn’t satisfied with a hundred corpses around it. Why not let it fight what they hated the most?”

“Jin Guangyao,” Lan Xichen concludes. Jiang Cheng looks back and forth between the Sect Leader of Lan and Nie Huaisang, and it becomes obvious they have exchanged words in his absence.

“Nothing grows within a mile of the coffin,” Nie Huaisang explains. “There is enough resentful energy in there to satisfy Baxia, and perhaps…” He allows himself a brief smile. “Perhaps we can wake up dage’s soul. I know it’s possible, it has to be…” Jiang Cheng rests a hand over his shoulder. “I consulted this with Master Wei.”

As if anything couldn’t surprise him anymore, the mention of Wei Wuxian catches Lan Xichen off guard. He was oblivious to the nature of Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang’s relationship in this, and he was also oblivious that they had reconciled with Wei Wuxian. But if demonic cultivation is involved, the master in the subject would be the Yiling Patriarch. The whereabouts of his brother, Lan Wangji, are a mystery to everyone including himself, how did Nie Huaisang manage to contact them snitches the extent of his power.

“Just to be clear,” Lan Xichen shoots them both an authoritarian glare. “We are not talking about bringing him back as a fierce corpse because then I will stop you both even if…”

“Zewu-jun,” Jiang Cheng lifts a hand while Nie Huaisang shakes his head effusively.

“That’s not it,” he urges saying. “Please, Xichen-ge, for the love you once had for my brother, when Hanguang-jun and Wei Wuxian arrive, he will be able to explain better, but do know that I only want his soul to find peace.”

“I still do,” Lan Xichen mumbles almost inaudibly. “Love him.”

“So do I,” Nie Huaisang replies with a knowing smile “I want him to be able to reincarnate one day and live again free from the injustices that haunted him in this life. What I want for him…”

“Is to free his soul,” Lan Xichen finishes for him, and Nie Huaisang nods with bleary eyes that menace to pour a river at any minute.

After a long of consideration in the presence of Baxia, Lan Xichen realizes they will never be together as it is now. His worst nightmares couldn’t get worse even if they fail. Nie Mingjue deserves better than what fate had for him, for them. Will this really help his soul find the way of the light or will it curl in darkness for another hundred years? Whatever happens from now on won’t worsen the past. Will this offer comfort? Closure? Hope?

“You don’t have to give us an answer now,” Jiang Cheng interrupts his thoughts. “They will arrive tomorrow and then we can speak again. We are all rattled by emotions and the resentful energy in the room isn’t helping.” The presents agree without uttering a word.

“We are the only ones who know about this. The Yunmeng Jiang Sect, the Qinghe Nie Sect, and the Gusu Lan Sect are the only ones guarding the coffin location.” Nie Huaisang chuckles faintly. “And we happen to be the sect leaders.”

“True to your style,” Lan Xichen arches a questioning eyebrow at him and endures a harsh look from Jiang Cheng. Nie Huaisang pays him no mind as he motions to grab Nie Mingjue’s saber when Lan Xichen stops him.

“Wait,” he says. “I want to see Baxia.” His eyes move to the bundle on the table and a dark shadow crosses them like a shooting star. Jiang Cheng scoffs and Nie Huaisang swallows a lump in his throat, fearful to get another glimpse at what Baxia has to say to him in the name of his brother.

In preparation, Jiang Cheng summons Zidian and a purplish glare enlightens the room, casting unsettling shadows in everyone’s faces. “Don’t reveal Baxia completely,” Nie Huaisang warns. “And don’t unsheathe it if you don’t want to experience it.” Huddling closer to Jiang Cheng, Nie Huaisang watches how Lan Xichen lifts a determined hand and unfolds Baxia’s hilt. A caring arm winds around his shoulders as a protective shield that does nothing for the resentful energy surrounding them thickly, but the gesture melts his heart nonetheless. “I still wonder how was dage able to handle… _it_ all the time.”

Lan Xichen grasps the hilt and notes a flux of energy creeping up his arm. His muscles tense and his breath seizes up in his chest, but after so many years, the sight and the touch of the saber brings his feelings for Nie Mingjue to the surface. Everything he owns of him does. A robe he forgot in the Cloud Recesses once, a tiger stone pendant that used to hang from his sash and got loose once he was training. Lan Xichen kept it and promised to fix it later but he forgot and found it years later inside the sleeve of an old uniform.

Although this feels entirely different. While Nie Huaisang hides his face in Jiang Cheng’s chest, Lan Xichen unsheathes Baxia a couple of inches. If not for his level of cultivation, he would be knocked out by the dark energy invading his body. The blade offers him a reflection of his eyes, glittering in purple and gold, and before he realizes it’s happening, he’s drawn into a pit of despair and anger. One moment he was at a table in Lotus Pier and the next he’s a body-less entity floating in a very different scenery. A familiar one.

Lan Xichen would recognize this room anywhere. He has gone through his most pleasant moments in Nie Mingjue’s chambers, but it’s also the place his nightmares choose to torture him every other night. But this doesn’t seem like a dream, and he guesses he has been pulled into Empathy when the saber spirit recognized him. What does he want him to see?

“Lan Huan,” Nie Mingjue mumbles. “More…”

His gaze turns to mussed sheets and a coupling couple, if he had a body he’d be aroused and flustered by the sight. But what he sees are not his memories nor Nie Mingjue’s. He remembers this day. It comes back to him at once at the thrilling sight of them together. A dark, soul-tearing chuckle startles him, especially because it comes from his own mind. These are Baxia’s memories. _It’s you…_ Lan Xichen would have flinched if he could.

His eyes are fixed on the bed. Nie Mingjue sprawled on his four as outstanding as ever, his muscles flexing and coated in a thin layer of sweat. So is he, kneeling between his legs as he takes him from behind. His hand wraps around his ponytail and Nie Mingjue arches his spine and whips his head back. Lan Xichen feels a rush of shame at how he enjoyed the power, Nie Mingjue’s helplessness and how he babbled his name and asked for more. He rejoices in it again, reconstructing his own memories from a different perspective.

“More, harder.” Nie Mingjue begs as a sore mess.

This has always been one of his most shameful fantasies. Lan Xichen loved when Nie Mingjue fucked him senseless, but he loved to fuck him raw and draw out of him the most ignoble and luscious moans and whines. He’s aroused by the sight of himself pounding into Nie Mingjue with wild abandon, lust retorting his face. Those rough encounters that left them exhausted and utterly satisfied are still the ones he indulges himself in when the desire for him overcomes his grief.

Another chuckle reminds him he’s not there anymore and that he’s witnessing shadows of the past. They are not them anymore, their time ended, wasted. _You tamed our master, but you cannot tame us…_ Lan Xichen swallows the bitter taste of blood as he tries to turn his gaze away from the scene. He cannot. Nie Mingjue wrings the sheets and moans his name as he spills onto the bedding, and a myriad of little whines and pleases come out of his lips when Lan Xichen’s ruthless thrusts don’t stop, when his hips slam and abuse him harder and faster.

Lan Xichen remembers they fucked for hours and didn’t leave the bedroom for days. They were young, reckless, and they had missed each other so much. But as he watches himself wrecking Nie Mingjue into a puddle of slack muscles because of the exertions of unrestrained sex, he also remembers the tender-hearted encounters at dawn. How they fucked, slow and swaying in unison, elongating their lovemaking as much as they could; how he rode him until he couldn’t feel his thighs anymore, how he ached for him, and remembered him for days after; how they hugged, laughing in bed, whispering nonsense about love, war, and a future they wouldn’t have.

His vision blurs and everything turns red as if a veil of scarlet blood covered his eyes. Part of him mourns the scene vanishing before his eyes, and part of him thanks them for it. _He loved you…_ “I know,” he murmurs. Lan Xichen blinks twice before he sees again the reflection of his gaze staring at himself. His eyes are darker than the night sky, all pupils and no irises. The taste of blood lingers in his mouth, and he sheathes Baxia and the dark, raunchy memory they gifted him.

“Sect Leader Lan?” Jiang Cheng mumbles while Nie Huaisang wraps the blanket around Baxia and hurries to secure it in the chest again.

The thump of the lid closing and the hasp fastening brings him to the present. “I’m fine,” Lan Xichen mutters after a few seconds. He feels light-headed.

“You understand what I meant?” Nie Huaisang asks, his eyebrows knit in concern at Lan Xichen’s pale complexion. “Its hunger is immense. The spirit there, Baxia, if it respects my brother who has wielded it for so many years, understood him, fed him, soul and body…”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen interrupts, clearing his throat as he overcomes the emotions shaking him. “Their connection is still there, the spirit remembers.” Nie Huaisang nods. “They could help him, but what about Jin Guangyao?” The thought of opening the coffin may be an issue of seeing his brother again for Nie Huaisang, but there’s someone else there cursed by the same resentful energy, his soul also trapped, his body in… such a state.

“He can rot and suffer in there for eternity for all I care,” Nie Huaisang hisses.

“Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng chides.

“Wouldn’t Baxia suppress the resentful energy trapping Jin Guangyao too?” Nie Huaisang averts his gaze and covers his face with the folding fan, so Lan Xichen glances at Jiang Cheng.

“We won’t know more until tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng answers impassibly. “I think we should leave this be until then.”

Emotions still bursting out of him, Lan Xichen agrees. Surrounded by a gloomy atmosphere, he retires to his chambers. A servant brings him a warm broth and some Yunmeng delicacies that he barely touches. He spends most of the evening dwelling on the conversation they just had and the many things that could go wrong. At nine he lies in bed, hoping to see Lan Wangji and clarify this whole plan. A familiar face in these strange circumstances brings him some comfort as he falls asleep and, like every other night, he dreams of him.

 

Jiang Cheng comes back to his chambers after he made sure the chest was secured and guarded in a room wallpapered by suppressing talismans. The last bunch had been slowly burnt down by the resentful energy lingering in the place, but as long as they replace them regularly, they will be able to hold Baxia for another night. Between this and the incident in the rural area of Xiaogan, he’s exhausted, and yet the sight of Nie Huaisang reclined over a bunch of pillows as he sips wine and reads a book brings a subtle smile to his lips.

When he notices his presence, his eyes lift from the pages and a sultry smile stretches his lips. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Jiang Cheng arches a questioning eyebrow at him, sliding behind him to catch a glimpse of the mulberry scent always lingering in his hair. Nie Huaisang offers him a cup of wine, but he declines it, busy moving his hair out of the way to reveal a slender, tempting neck.

“You drink too much wine,” he chides when Nie Huaisang downs in one gulp the cup meant for him. The retort comes with a dainty kiss in the crook of his neck, and Nie Huaisang reclines back into him, pleased with the attention. “I believe Zewu-jun will aid us,” Nie Huaisang says.

“I’d rather wait until we meet with Hanguang-jun and Wei Wuxian before I speak my mind.”

“Hm…” Nie Huaisang hums when Jiang Cheng slides cold fingers in the collar of his garments and tugs until his shoulder is bared in the open. He giggles, sipping wine as he yields to the unexpected shows of love he still needs to get used to. “Will you go to Yaofen tomorrow again?”

“Yes,” he says in between kisses.

“What a vicious ghost, causing so much trouble even to you,” Nie Huaisang teases.

“I’ll take care of it even if I have to wrap Zidian around every maiden in town,” Jiang Cheng claims and then curses under his nose at his poor choice of words.

“Oh!” Nie Huaisang turns about, their noises bumping when he does. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He whispers into his mouth.

“I meant to exorcise the evil being,” he retorts, biting his lower lip to chide any more teasing from Nie Huaisang, but he cannot help the faint chuckle that rumbles from the back of his throat.

Jiang Cheng pulls at his garments, and Nie Huaisang twists around and crawls into his lap, their mouths hovering over the other for a brief moment before eagerness presses them together again. He parts his mouth and moans when Jiang Cheng makes room for himself. After so many years craving for him, Nie Huaisang has to open his eyes in the middle of the kiss to realize this is not a treacherous dream. Overjoyed, he tackles Jiang Cheng and straddles him, their limbs tangled in many layers of garments that soothe the harsh surface of the floor.

“Cheng-xiong…” he whispers when a pair of greedy hands fondle up his thighs and grope for his buttocks. “I never thought you’d be so caring…” His hair drapes at both sides of his face while he stares into a pair of dark blue eyes that see him for what he is and nothing else.

“We’ve been together for so long and now you praise me?” Jiang Cheng quips, biting the corner of his mouth before Nie Huaisang averts his needy kisses.

“I never aimed to be more than a wild night to you,” Nie Huaisang confesses.

“A thousand wild nights you mean?” He supports himself on his elbows, craving the ripe, juicy mouth that smiles with mischief.

“So many already?” Nie Huaisang taps his chin with his forefinger, feigning he hasn’t counted every single encounter throughout the years, hankered for them whenever he knew they’d meet by chance or not so by chance. Jiang Cheng pulls at his wrist and Nie Huaisang muffles a surprised whine into his lips right before he melts into a kiss that trickles down his spine like thick honey. “Why?” he asks while Jiang Cheng drags his lips over his own as though he wanted to taste the sweet wine lingering on his lips. “Why are you the only one not mad at me for lying to everyone?”

Dainty kisses follow his answer: “Because your lies were means to an end,” he says in a whisper just for the two. “And I have made those mistakes myself.” Nie Huaisang giggles, his hands sneaking underneath Jiang Cheng’s garments to graze his skin. “You’re tipsy.”

“Then tuck me in bed before I get drowsy,” Nie Huaisang suggests in his best mistress voice.

Gracefully, Jiang Cheng stands and carries Nie Huaisang in his arms the ten strides that separate them from the bed. He throws him there, pressing a last kiss on his already swollen lips. He peels his upper garments off, unabashed of the scar that he has hidden from many lovers but not from him.

Nie Huaisang hurries to remove the many layers that cover his body but Jiang Cheng toes his boots off and lies over him with his undergarments still on, pulling and tugging at his silky robes and tossing every piece out of his way. Means to an end. Soon, his clothes pool unceremoniously on the floor and not a single inch of his peerless skin is covered. Beet-red, Nie Huaisang undoes his half up-knot and lies back, his head resting over a fluffy pillow. He stays still, his chest heaving, his heart thumping as it does every time they lay together, which since the Guanyin temple incident, has been almost every single one.

Jiang Cheng ogles the breathtaking nudity of his body, his eyes glittering in lust, his erection straining his underwear. His lover never averts his gaze because he relishes in being admired and desired, granting him the full extent of his youthful beauty just for him. “Cheng-xiong?” he pouts, demanding the touch of his hands and not the intent sweeping of his gaze giving him goosebumps and getting him even harder. He shushes him, not ready to take the bite he aches for.

If praise would come out of his lips, Nie Huaisang would die in the spot. Those are scarce, like buds in winter. Jiang Cheng has never been good with words or expressing what he feels -or so he thought-, but he’s always been a master at taking what he wants, and Nie Huaisang has been a dutiful lover letting him take it. He has never been with someone else. Jiang Cheng stole his virginity and every first time. No other lover has ever touched, kissed, or loved what he has. If Jiang Cheng is aware of that truth, it escapes his wits.

Hovering over him, Jiang Cheng closes the distance between them and hides in the crook of his neck. His teeth grit a cold earlobe. “You’re so pretty when you blush,” he whispers, tracing the shell of his ear with a wet tongue. “That’s why I like to stare.”

His arms cling around his shoulders, pulling him close to feel him chest against chest. Nie Huaisang may be the only one who has always unreservedly belonged to Jiang Cheng heart and soul. What a faithful lover for such a lying snake. A lump tightens his throat, overwhelmed by the wholehearted kisses painting his neck in pink and red. “You should find a woman to bear your heirs,” Nie Huaisang mumbles. Until this day, no matter the years spent together nor the words of love shared in bed, he doubts he’s worth keeping for long, and still waits for the day he’s cast away from his bed.

“Bear them for me,” Jiang Cheng says as a smirk stretches his busy lips.

It makes Nie Huaisang giggle. “You’re taking your Sect’s motto a bit too far,” he jokes.

“I don’t care.” He bites his neck, ensconcing himself between his legs, grinding against him. He loves he’s smaller, more slender, delicate, his skin unmarred by war or battle. “I want you, and I won’t lose you.” Nie Huaisang feels his heart shrink at how he’ll probably die from a qi deviation like most of his family members have. His temper is not as bad, and his mother was a tender, caring wife his whole life, but he’s not fated to live as an immortal and it’s too late for him to dedicate his life to cultivation. Notwithstanding he has found a reason to do so beyond power and recognition.

“You have me,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, his hands roving Jiang Cheng’s sides until they push and tug at his undergarments. Jiang Cheng shimmies them off swiftly and comes back, pressing his hard length against his belly as they melt into one. “But… -Jiang Cheng pinches a nipple but cannot muffle his words-… you need an heir, and Lotus Pier needs a mistress.”

“Marry me, then.” Jiang Cheng attempts to trap a perked nip between his lips when Nie Huaisang takes a handful of his hair, messing up his top-knot, and makes him look at him.

“Don’t tease me like that,” he says with a furrow between his eyebrows. It takes the better of Jiang Cheng not to laugh at him.

“I’m not.” He lets his tongue out and licks the hard tip. “I’ll take several concubines and have a dozen babies if it pleases you.” Nie Huaisang breaks into a soft chuckle, nudging Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

“Several you say?” He rolls his eyes even if he has drunk a jar of vinegar at those words. “You could,” he says with disdain. “I’m not jealous, I could spare you a night or two a week…”

Now it’s Jiang Cheng’s turn to laugh. “Liar…” He crawls up again and takes his mouth as he chuckles, kissing, biting, and owning because he has all he wants naked and defenseless between his body and the mattress. His hand traces seamlessly the ridges of his waist and cups the lush curve of a butt cheek with his palm. “Hand me the oil,” he asks with an urgent squeeze, eager to sink himself home and forget the day.

Nie Huaisang stretches a hand and retrieves a small bottle from the bedside table, but he holds onto it, clutching it in his hand. “I’m not enough,” he whispers, staring into his almost purplish eyes, dimly lit by the candles around them. “And you know it.”

“You’re forgetting something.” Jiang Cheng pats his backside and beckons him to pour some oil into his fingers. Nie Huaisang reluctantly does. As the golden liquid coats his fingers, Jiang Cheng finishes, his lips pressed in a thin line. “You’re all I want, A-Sang…” He almost drops the opened bottle all over himself before he puts it aside.

“Cheng-xiong…” His legs spread wider and a pair of fingers stroke his rim.

“I’ve always wanted you. I thought I needed something else, that I was supposed to fulfill some kind of destiny or fit a role I obviously don’t.” Nie Huaisang cups his face and stares at him with a love-struck glance. “But all I ever wanted was taken from me or under my nose.”

“Me?” Nie Huaisang teases, but the words die in a moan when Jiang Cheng pushes two fingers inside his accustomed hole. He grants him a sultry smile, his fingers expertly making way for themselves in a well-rehearsed ritual. Nie Huaisang will be tender for him in a few moments.

“Sometimes I’d give my life for what I’ve lost,” Jiang Cheng whispers into his mouth, fucking him at a leisurely pace and curling the intruding fingers just right to make him shudder. “And others I cherish what I have.” Nuzzling against his nose, he glimpses the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes, but the enticing smile pulling the corners of Nie Huaisang’s mouth upward brings warmth to his heart.

“What are you waiting for then?” Nie Huaisang protests, clumsily rocking his hips to get more of those sinful fingers inside him. “Skip the nonsense, just get inside me.” The plea makes Jiang Cheng chuckle, but he maliciously withdraws his fingers only to glide them inside his tight hole as he steals another needy moan from him.

“I happen to enjoy very much how you writhe only from my fingers,” he teases.

“You’re so mean,” Nie Huaisang pouts, sneaking a hand between them to get ahold of Jiang Cheng’s cock. He finds him hard and throbbing, and it swells in his hand as he squeezes. His thumb circles the head and smears a clear spurt over it. He knows a trick or two to get what he wants, and even though Jiang Cheng would make him climax untouched only by those two fingers, he wants _him_. “Please,” he purrs, his lips bumping into his panting mouth.

The red comes up his cheeks adorably, and Jiang Cheng sits on his calves, already breathless and defeated. He coats his length with the remnants of oil, and Nie Huaisang leaps onto his knees and clings to his shoulders again, spreading his thighs widely to straddle him. Long strands of hair drape from his shoulders, encasing his beauty in dark secrecy. The candles play tricks with his hazel eyes, with his flushed cheeks and his spit-licked mouth. Jiang Cheng would spend an eternity watching him for afar, fearful to touch and break him.

His hands tighten his hold on his butt when Nie Huaisang positions the tip of his cock into his welcoming heat and sinks on his lap. Both moan into the other’s mouth, his arms winding around his shoulders for support, Jiang Cheng’s fingertips leaving crescent moon indentations on his flesh. He holds him, forces him to take him slowly. His impatience turns him on, how Nie Huaisang uses his body weight and a mindful sway of his hips to sink another inch of his cock inside him. “Huaisang,” he gasps, overwhelmed by how tight he is.

It burns deliciously, and Nie Huaisang gives open-mouthed kisses across his sharp jaw while his thighs give in and he’s fully seated on his lap. It doesn’t take long until he gets used to it and what seemed a nigh-unbearable tightness stretching his rim is now a delectable thick, cock filling him to the brim. “You’re so hard, Sect Leader Jiang,” he teases. Nie Huaisang rides him shyly, the oil smoothing the way where they are joined.

Jiang Cheng presses their foreheads together, allowing him a few moments of control. His cock bumps against his stomach and leaves a clear trail, and he can sense how he softens at every thrust, how the faint gasps turn into whines as Nie Huaisang picks up his pace. Suddenly, spiritual energy oozes out of Jiang Cheng and surrounds them in a thick, mist of liveliness. His movements halt. “Keep moving,” he says in a raspy voice, and Nie Huaisang obeys, eager to swallow him whole inside him.

The sheer essence of Jiang Cheng courses through his meridians and mingles with his spiritual energy at the same time he invades his body with a hot searing length. “Dual cultivation again, Cheng-xiong?” Nie Huaisang gasps a bit breathless, overwhelmed more for the activity around them than their gentle fucking. They’ve done this before, and it embarrasses him how powerful Jiang Cheng is compared to him. He feels nearly crushed by the energy carrying his eagerness and speaking of his desire in a way only his golden core understands. “Y-you won’t,” he stutters. “You won’t change my fate.” Jiang Cheng groans, his eyes flashing in purple. He stands on his knees and supports Nie Huaisang, his hips rolling up into him over and over. “I’m too weak,” he mumbles, huddling his thighs tight around his waist.

“You’re not.”

“You can’t cultivate for both,” Nie Huaisang retorts with all the strength he can muster.

“Says who?” Jiang Cheng gropes for his ass and takes his mouth to steal his words and infuse some sense in him with the little self-restraint he has left. “I’ll fuck you into immortality If I have to or die trying,” he breathes out in his mouth before another wet, deep kiss follows and leaves Nie Huaisang breathless and at the verge of crying his heart out. Why does he love him? What has he done to deserve Jiang Cheng unconditionally beside him? “You’re the only reason I don’t rip my golden core out.”

“Jiang Cheng,” he moans and thrashes his head back. His lover uses the moment of weakness to lick his Adam’s apple as he lowers his body and lets him hang in free fall from both his arms. His legs topple over and hang from his elbow pits in a not so casual way. Nie Huaisang smirks, clearly pleased with the position. The one in which he’s defenseless and Jiang Cheng fucks him hard.

His upper back presses on the mattress, his body twisting and writhing for more, the new angle offering a wonderful pressure right on his prostate. He arches his spine sinuously, but Jiang Cheng’s hands grip his waist firmly as he slams balls deep into him. Nie Huaisang moans, stuffed of him, his skin tingling from his toes to his scalp. Jiang Cheng swoons in delight at the sight, pulling out halfway and shoving himself back inside. His hands will leave bruises on his waist, but the thought far from making him loosen his grip, swells his cock. He loves the show, watching Nie Huaisang lost in his pleasure, unabashed of how he twists pursuing his climax, of his beauty blinding him from below.

The show is just for him. Nie Huaisang trembles at the verge of orgasm, his hair spread over mussed sheets, mouth agape and letting out moan, after whine, after wail. He takes his thrusts and asks for more, his spine twisting in a delectable arch. Jiang Cheng takes his time, their hips slamming home unhurriedly. He’s the one in control and Nie Huaisang the one at his mercy, and he won’t stop until he’s spilling his orgasm over himself.

Nie Huaisang whines his name as he wraps a hand around his bouncing cock. His eyes are fixed on him, his upper back pushing on the mattress as he angles himself to get that soul-tearing brush of his cock right where he needs. Jiang Cheng fumes a curse at the hand pumping his cock. How he wished to restrain him with Zidian as he takes his pleasure and steals Nie Huaisang’s.

If only he wasn’t so close already; if they weren’t about to melt together. Nie Huaisang wrinkles his eyes shut as he comes, his cock spurting white stripes on his stomach. Jiang Cheng’s notes his hole clenching forcefully around him, but then it loosens, flutters around his cock and he thrusts frantically inside him. Noises of flesh against flesh, his ragged breath, and Nie Huaisang’s soft whines mingle in their most intimate moment. Jiang Cheng spills inside him with a groan, fucking him until he coaxes every last drop of his lust to leave his body and enter his.

“Is that all you got?” Nie Huaisang teases but sounds weary. He licks his dried-up lips. Jiang Cheng’s cock slips outside, but a pair of fingers trap the trickling cum escaping him and push it back where it belongs.

“I am not so tired as to let you sleep just now.” His eyes darken as he unhooks Nie Huaisang’s trembling legs and hovers over him. His hand pumps his cock ungently to get himself hard enough to slide inside him again.

“You never disappoint, Cheng-xiong,” Nie Huaisang purrs, a sly smile stretching his lips. If this is his fair share of heaven, he won’t let him escape so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ Isn't Baxia a charmer? xDDD  
> There's a side story that I introduced here (with a purpose) and I really hope you enjoy it because it'll last a couple of chapters <33
> 
> See y'all next Tuesday! ~ヾ(＾∇＾)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

His night was more peaceful than he had expected; a mixture of memories and sweet dreams of him. Lan Xichen woke up grateful for them even though reality struck him like a hammer upon waking up. Lotus Pier has beautiful light in the morning, almost pink before it turns orange and warm. The ruckus from the pier and the marketplace reached him soon, as well as the training fields crowded by eager disciples in purple. It’s very different from the Cloud Recesses, but it has an infectious vitality he cannot help but admire.

His life has been a succession of calming ceremonies, meditation, and morning readings. Music plays an important role in their cultivation, and it fills the souls of the Gusu Lan disciples with a new intricate way of communicating with the dead. Fortunately for him and his brother, their uncle gave the same substance to their swordsmanship. Their days filled soon with many responsibilities and obligations attached to the two Jades of Lan. It wasn’t until he grew up that he realized there was more to life than what they had seen in their restricted little world.

Nie Mingjue discovered him another side of life and the grueling consequences of war. Like spicy food, it was hard to keep in his mouth but let a pleasant aftertaste. They never asked for the Sunshot Campaign, but it happened and it changed their peaceful lives. They survived, their love did too, but only to end way too soon afterward.

Strolling through the pier while gathering his thoughts, Lan Xichen smiles at the kids shooting kites near the shore; little things he and Lan Wangji never enjoyed as children. He realizes he has never been here with Nie Mingjue. They never had time to elope for a few days or night-hunt together as Lan Wangji does with Wei Wuxian. He feels a strange admiration for his brother and the way he conducts his life rightfully; not by what others would tell him is right or wrong but following his heart’s beliefs. A soft smile lightens up his face.

Lan Xichen wishes he had been braver, stronger, to take Nie Mingjue away from all the things that harmed them. But he let others taint his judgment, he lived by rules, committed to his obligations and responsibilities -so did Nie Mingjue- and they paid the highest price. Suddenly his entire world, his life, doesn’t mean what it used to but something else entirely. As if he had opened his eyes and broadened his sight at the many possibilities his past self would have never considered.

A strange fear of ending up like his father strikes him differently than when Lan Wangji secluded himself to heal his wounds after Wei Ying’s death. When he got out, he carried his grief inside and continued with his life even though the love of his life had died. Thirteen years worth of sorrow and pain and yet he never neglected those around him. Lan Xichen stares at the water lilies floating obliviously to the struggles of humanity. A childish wish of being nothing more than a passive flower drifting in a lake embarrasses him. He won’t be like his father, he won’t let life pass by him. But all his courage and bravery turn to ashes when the thought of Nie Mingjue’s soul lost and gone forever flashes through his mind. He won’t rest until he does.

One can learn from past mistakes, but never change what has happened. If he had the opportunity again… Lan Xichen exhales a deep sigh. He would’ve done the same, his heart would’ve trusted his sworn brother, his heart would’ve loved Nie Mingjue just the same. He has a chance now to make up for his past mistakes, and he’ll take it.

“Are you an immortal?” A kid dragging a kite approaches him.

“I am not,” Lan Xichen says, the corners of his mouth pulling upward in a welcoming smile that encourages the kid to keep talking. He notices then the group of shy kids behind him, murmuring, probably, about his little friend’s boldness.

“Daozhang, can you help us steal lotus seeds?”

Lan Xichen’s hearty chuckle catches them off guard. “You shouldn’t steal,” he chides. He musses his hair up and walks back to the Jiang residence. The numb sadness that accompanied him vanishes momentarily, and he allows himself a glimpse of hope at a future yet foggy by doubts and obscure intentions.

The sumptuous threshold of Lotus Pier stands proudly and cast a merciful shadow over Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang. “Are you sure this cannot be delayed?” Nie Huaisang asks, hoping to retain Jiang Cheng with him and also fearful to have another heart to heart with Lan Xichen. There are many unspoken words left between them but he has not the mental strength to form them today.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” Jiang Cheng traps his chin between his knuckles, and Nie Huaisang smartly covers them with his opened fan so the guards near the door witness a landscape of Qinghe instead of the dopey kiss he presses in Jiang Cheng’s lips. What could be except for a romantic exchange when his cheeks are flushed in pink and he wears an all-knowing smile? Not to mention he has been staying in Lotus Pier very often for the past months. They decided to live their love in the open, and even though they are aware of the gossip about the Sect Leader of Jiang ironically losing his head for the head-shaker -surely because of an evil spell- they haven’t announced their relationship officially yet.

Lan Xichen’s strides falter when he realizes he’s coming across them at an unfortunate moment, but Jiang Cheng clears his throat and Nie Huaisang fans himself effusively as they see him. “Sect Leader Lan.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Lan Xichen says, glancing at Nie Huaisang’s hazel eyes.

“I have to fly to Yaofen to solve an issue with a vicious ghost, but I’m sure you’ll find Lotus Pier pleasant enough.”

The prospect of an idle day churns his stomach. “I do,” he answers. “But may I assist you while I am here, Sect Leader Jiang?” Jiang Cheng frowns, his hand tightening around Sandu’s hilt. “I remember a pair of young masters eager to help with water ghouls a long time ago.” Jiang Cheng’s expression softens, and Nie Huaisang lets out a chuckle.

“I’ll be very grateful to have your expertise.”

“That’s a relief,” Nie Huaisang says with a smirk. “I will stay to receive Hanguang-jun and Master Wei in case they arrive earlier than expected.”

Without further delay, Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen, armed with Zidian and Liebing, mount their respective swords and fly up in the sky in the direction of the rural town of Yaofen. Yunmeng controls the area and takes care of the abnormalities or dangers disturbing its peace. No other sects would dare to step into its territory, but it’s rather strange that the Sect Leader travels in person to intervene. A vicious ghost is not such a deadly, ungodly creature that any regular cultivators associated with the Yunmeng Jiang Sect couldn’t take care of on their own.

According to Jiang Cheng, the flight there will take less than a couple of hours, so by the time they arrive, they’ll still have plenty of daylight. Even though the Sect Leader stares listlessly at the distance, Lan Xichen feels the urge to inquire further. “Sect Leader Jiang, may I ask what kind of fiend are we hunting?” The gentle breeze makes their robes flow in the wind as they fly abreast in the same direction. The ends of the forehead ribbon swirl gracefully along with his hair, and the clouds embroidered in the hem of his garments give the illusion that he’s floating in the air.

“It has killed five men so far, one every three days,” Jiang Cheng explains. “Besides vicious, it’s also a soul-consuming ghost that feeds on his victim. It has perfected its method and has become stronger.”

“What makes it so difficult to exorcise?”

“It hides before it kills and raises no suspicions until it’s already too late,” Jiang Cheng answers, frowning slightly. “Because apparently, no husband in town has ever been unfaithful to his wife.”

“Hm?”

“And they fear their wives more than ghosts.” Lan Xichen frowns at Jiang Cheng’s wry retort before the Sect Leader proceeds to let him know about the events taking place in Yaofen for the past two weeks.

It all started when the wife of the first victim reported the death of her husband. Nothing was out of normal, except she had woken up, the last days had been erased from her memory, and her husband was a cold corpse beside her. It resembles a possession. Several cultivators from the Yunmeng Jiang Sect confirmed his soul had been consumed by a ghost. As a protection, they advised the villagers to guard their homes with talismans, but during the interrogation of the first victim, the ghost killed another man.

The deceased had nothing in common. One was a farmer and a part-time merchant that sold the delicacies his wife had baked from the stock of their little farm to get an extra income. The second one was a rich businessman who owned the town’s inn and a liquor shop. He was married to the daughter of the mayor from a neighboring town. He died exactly in the same way as the first: they fell asleep with their wives and woke up soulless and cold.

The third man was a re-offending unfaithful husband that frequented the town’s brothel until he had no more gold to pay for prostitutes. The one night he slept at home with his wife, he didn’t wake up the next morning. After much investigating, the cultivators of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect found out the only thing the victims had in common is that they had been unfaithful to their wives. The three widows mourned their husbands but confessed soon enough that they were aware of their husband’s deeds outside the marital bed. They also claimed themselves innocent of the crimes. But even then, the murders wouldn’t stop.

“If the vicious ghost can ignore repelling talismans and targets such a specific profile…” Lan Xichen says having listened to Jiang Cheng’s explanation. “Someone summoned it, probably trying to curse their own husband and unleashing this chain of events instead.”

“That’s what we believe, but we’re as close to catching the one who summoned the vicious ghost than the ghost itself,” Jiang Cheng says. “The wives in town are raging, they take off the talismans on their doors and claim their husband’s innocence until the fourth victim confirmed our suspicions.”

“If they had let them there, at least there would be a burned talisman behind once the possessed wife entered the house.”

“We cannot reason with them,” Jiang Cheng sighs. “There will be another victim tonight, but the husbands will never admit they cheated on their wives.”

“Why every three days?” Lan Xichen asks, trying to think of a trap for the ghost.

“The ghost possesses the wife and pretends to be her, then it plays the role of the wife for three days until the husband is off-guard and safe in his bed, contented and sure he’s out of danger because nothing seems out of the ordinary.” Lan Xichen arches an eyebrow at the curious scenario that expects them. “They usually die in their beds, their real wives unharmed and unable to remember what happened for the past days. All the testimonies coincided and all the widows woke up with a corpse by their side.”

“All this nonsense would be solved with the truth because your people would guard the adulterous husbands and protect them from the ghost, even use them as a lure in extreme cases like this one,” Lan Xichen conjectures.

“But they hide and pray for their infidelities to vanish into thin air,” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “They can’t fool the ghost and if it possesses their wife, the husband will die within three days.”

“Always a step behind,” Lan Xichen mumbles.

“Precisely.” Jiang Cheng beckons him to fly lower and follow him, and they land a few moments later. “Zidian will help.”

“Indeed,” Lan Xichen quips. “But we’ll need to unmask the ghost’s façade first.”

The lovely town seems quiet and peaceful, children frisking near a creek, old men playing xiangqu outside the liquor house, women coming back from working the fields with heavy straw baskets at their backs. Nothing hints there has been a massacre here in which a ghost has killed no less than five people in such a short period. Nobody is in a panic or entrenched home. Life goes on as if nothing had happened. As Jiang Cheng said, the perfect lie that sustains their lives must go on even if a vicious ghost is hunting adulterous men.

A cultivator wearing purple scoots toward them. “Sect Leader Jiang.” He bows hurriedly, anxiousness painted all over his face.

“What are you waiting for?” Jiang Cheng hisses.

“A man… a man came to us to confess he… he…” he loses track of what he was going to say upon seeing the pristine beauty of Lan Xichen politely waiting behind Jiang Cheng.

“Spit it out!”

“H-he said he _fears for his life_ ,” he stutters, lowering his voice at the last words. Jiang Cheng huffs and strides decisively toward the town hall, followed by the nervous cultivator and Lan Xichen who remains observant as the Sect Leader takes care of the situation.

The group of cultivators that he left there the day before surround a humble man with an ashen expression and a stubble sprinkled in grey. He spots a worrisome furrow between his eyebrows, his eyes brimming with fear. Drops of sweat gather at his temples as he fidgets with his own hands. Jiang Cheng scrutinizes him, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“What happened?” Several cultivators start babbling, but he lifts his hand and pierces the villager with a pair of unforgiving eyes that throw at him an askance look. The man swallows audibly as he lowers his head to avert his gaze.

“Forgive the trouble, Sect Leader Jiang,” he says with a thread of voice. “My wife is acting weird and I…”

“You cheated on your wife and you want to be protected,” Jiang Cheng says, squinting his eyes, doubtful that this is nothing more than a scared man that believes he will die tonight and is terrified to come back home. “Stay in the council hall and you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang,” the man mumbles. “I owe you my life.”

“That doesn’t solve our problem,” Jiang Cheng mutters. By the downcast faces of his men, they haven’t found out anything useful for tonight and they will arrive late, once again, after the widow comes to them in the morning reporting her husband’s death.

“Sect Leader Jiang, may I?” Lan Xichen says, wanting to exchange a few words with the villager. Jiang Cheng nods while two of the cultivators brief him in. At least, last night no one died. Lan Xichen approaches the man that was about to sink into a seat to rest his wobbly legs but swiftly stands when he realizes a cultivator fallen from heaven comes to speak with him. “Please, sit,” Lan Xichen beckons him, painting his face with relief. The man nothing but crumbles as a deep sigh leaves his lungs. “You said your wife was acting oddly?”

“Yes,” he grants him a jerky nod. “As I have told the cultivators earlier, she’s not herself but they won’t believe me.” Lan Xichen grants him a reassuring smile that always pushes people to talk and explain. Jiang Cheng moves to his side when the man starts sweating profusely again. They exchange a glance, and Jiang Cheng nods so he can continue interrogating him.

“Do you believe the ghost has possessed your wife?” Lan Xichen asks.

“Yes.”

“Do you have proof?”

“No…” The man stares at his own hands. “But she’s… she’s too nice.” Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen exchange a brief look while the man gathers his thoughts. “She’s too kind!” His bleary eyes meet Lan Xichen’s and encourage him to elaborate his suspicions. “My wife’s not caring, never been, and last night she made dinner and… and waited for me! She usually eats on her own and I have cold leftovers when I come back from the river.” Some cultivators gather around. “And I’m not complaining!”

“Are you completely sure?” Jiang Cheng asks with his usual bluntness.

“Not did she only cook dinner for me that she also waited for me and even put an effort making all my favorite dishes! And… -he lowers his voice, and the red comes up his cheeks- she even shared my bed the other night when she’s usually not bothered at all about marital duties,” he says, and then an unexpected tear trickles down his cheek as though he was scared for her and not himself. “That… that thing’s not my wife.”

“Have you been unfaithful to her?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“Well… I am a man!” He scratches the back of his head. “It was a century ago. I don’t really care about such things. It’s not that I have a mistress.” He snorts. “As if I could afford one!”

“It could be our only chance,” Lan Xichen whispers to Jiang Cheng.

“We have nothing else. It’s worth a try,” he says, rolling Zidian around his finger as he ponders the man’s words. If it’s just nonsense and his wife is not possessed, they will waste time, resources, and someone else won’t wake up in the morning. But if they’re right… “You need to come back home from work as if nothing had happened.” Fear flashes through the man’s eyes, but he doesn’t dare to contradict the Sect Leader and nods. “She mustn’t suspect.” Another nod. “We’ll protect you and find out soon enough if the evil being has possessed her.”

Lan Xichen listens to Jiang Cheng words, guessing his plan. Everyone knows if Zidian whips or wraps around someone, any ghost, spirit or soul possessing the body by force will be immediately pushed out of the vessel and weakened. But if the vicious ghost has already consumed five souls in such a short time, it will be dangerous when enraged.

“Whatever you say, Sect Leader Jiang.” The man kowtows to him. “Just bring my mean wife back, please?”

The night comes early as they prepare and the man gives them directions to his home. A few cultivators will patrol the town in case the vicious ghost attacks somewhere else. As the sun sets, the man enters the house slightly shaking and Jiang Cheng, Lan Xichen, and two men from his sect surround the shack and cover the exits. It’s a humble cottage with a little vegetable patch on one side and a cow in a modest cowshed nearby, not at all bothered by the mess.

As the sun sets and grants the world with the last rays of orange, Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng guard the front door and keep an eye on the man through the window. He’s sweating profusely as he sits at the table, insisting on wiping the perspiration from his forehead with a white handkerchief too wet to do its job properly.

His wife serves him lovingly with a sweet smile and caring words. She pours a generous serving of broth with onions, ribs, and tender vegetables. She even picks the better pieces for him and arranges them beautifully on the bowl along with a low cooked egg. Far from making him smile, the man shudders from sheer fear. The woman sports the smile every husband would love to see in his wife every day and night. Her long, ashy hair drapes at her back, a white ribbon tying the ends together. She’s a middle-aged woman who wears a glimpse of her younger self with wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth that enhance her aged beauty.

Both pair of eyes are on her, and Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng tense at the same time, noting a subtle change in the energy of the room. The seemingly innocent wife whips his head to the side and glances at the darkness invading the outside of her home. Her eyes flash in a bright red in their direction. “It knows,” Jiang Cheng mutters before the wooden lapels of the window slam forcefully as if a gust of wind had startled them open.

A terrifying roar conquers the silence of the night and the song of the crickets. “Liar!” she shouts, her attention turning to her husband as she points at him with her forefinger. The man stands, and as he tries to run toward the door, he topples over the bamboo seat and falls face first in front of Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen’s feet. At least he has the common sense to crawl between them and slip outside the cottage.

When Jiang Cheng whips his left hand, another soul-tearing roar makes the walls shake and every living being around the area tremble in fear. An intent, purple light invades the room when he summons Zidian, and the hilt of a long, terrifying whip appears in his hand replacing the ring form of the weapon. “Do you want to be mad?” He grumbles. “Be mad at me.” Zidian crackles, sparks reflecting in Jiang Cheng’s now purplish eyes.

Resentful energy fills the room as if it was pouring rain from the ceiling, and Lan Xichen, Liebing in hand, plays a few soothing notes to shoo it away. The vicious ghost angers at the two men before it, but something as its back catches its attention. The other cultivators snuck inside from the back and throw at it a handful of suppressing talismans, but with a smack of its hand, they burn into the air before they even touch its skin, useless.

They draw out their weapons when Jiang Cheng commands: “Don’t use your swords!” Another roar followed by a quick movement of its arm sends a strong air attack toward the cultivators. It sends them both flying against the wall and then onto the floor. They spit a generous amount of blood before they faint, unconscious.

“It’s stronger than we thought,” Lan Xichen says, and Jiang Cheng grunts, sending Zidian against it in a direct attack. He doesn’t want to hurt the woman, but he needs to expel the spirit from her body before it’s too late. The ghost manages to dodge easily, except the tip of the whip wraps around her wrist while a sly smile stretches in Jiang Cheng’s lips. Resentful energy oozes out of her like a smoky mist, her eyes an intent, glaring red. The spirit roars, angered by the sudden trap.

As Jiang Cheng pulls at Zidian, the arm of the spirit separates from the weakened body of the woman, but he finds an unusual resistance as a high-pitched shriek pierces their ears. “Zewu-jun!”

Over the overwhelming cry, Lan Xichen plays a calming tune, sharp enough to act fast, pleasant enough to charm any dead and make them believe they are alive again. The vicious ghost covers the woman’s ear with a human hand and a ghostly one, the other still tightly gripped by Zidian. Jiang Cheng struggles to pull at his weapon, anchoring his feet on the floor while imbuing a constant flow of spiritual energy through it to subdue the fiend.

Pulling one last trick out of its sleeve, the evil spirit condenses all the resentful energy in the room, curling up in a ball of hatred right before a big burst of energy slams everywhere, throwing the unconscious bodies of the cultivators against the wall again. The blast turn into splinters the scarce furniture and sends Zidian back. Liebing falls silent for a brief second too as if the air in the room had been extinguished by the attack, and Jiang Cheng backs off half an inch on the floor by the blast wave. When the cloud of smoke dissipates, Jiang Cheng gathers Zidian in a bundle into his hand with a simple command of his wrist.

“My wife! Where is my wife?” The man asks from the doorstep of the cottage, fearful to step inside and watching in horror the mess unleashed in his home. There is no trace of his wife nor the vicious ghost, and his stomach churns in despair.

“Find the cultivators patrolling the area and tend the injured here,” he commands, walking toward the backdoor of the shack followed by Lan Xichen. “It’s getting away,” he grunts, sensing the vicious ghost farther into the depths of the forest at every second that passes.

“The fiend spent all its energy in that attack,” Lan Xichen quips. “This is our chance.” They share a knowing glance before they enter the dark, gloomy forest surrounding Yaofen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! .+:｡(ﾉ･ω･)ﾉﾞ I know maybe this wasn't the most interesting chapter but I really wanted to write a ghost story and also: Jiang Cheng wielding Zidian *sigh* I'm so weak (੭ ˃̣̣̥ ω˂̣̣̥)੭ु⁾⁾
> 
> See y'all next Friday! ~ヾ(＾∇＾) --> I got it right this time xDD


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ヾ ＾∇＾

The same landscape that looked peaceful and rural when they arrived, gleams in an eerie aura enchanted by the vicious ghost. As if a monster had scared them away, there are no living things in the area, which hints they’re on the right track to catch and exorcise the weakened evil being. “This confirms someone has summoned it,” Lan Xichen says. “It’s too powerful and ranks as a high-level creature. It couldn’t have cultivated this kind of power and resentful energy from consuming five souls.” Its strength had been there for long and it answered someone’s call. If they hurry, they may find the woman still alive.

Before they realize how close they’re getting, a ghostly mist reaches their knees and turns the gloomy forest even darker and looming. Jiang Cheng glances at Lan Xichen as he seems to float his way through the woods. When he looks back at him, they both nod and Jiang Cheng unsheathes Sandu while Lan Xichen breathes in and puts his xiao on his lips.

A long, ringing note echoes in the depths of the woods, searching for it, calling for it. When the noise disperses and gets lost in the darkness, Lan Xichen beckons Jiang Cheng with a subtle tilt of his head. The notes of the xiao and the tunefulness of Evocation guide them until they find a black figure underneath a huangshan pine. The spirit was still strong enough to refuse the invocation, but not to run away or hide from it.

Jiang Cheng unfolds Zidian and with a whip, it wraps around the woman’s body at the same time a fierce roar conquers the night, silencing even Lan Xichen’s xiao. “You can’t pull that trick twice,” he brags, tightening his grip. The spirit cries out as Zidian expels the fiend out of her body and moves it away from the evil creature. Lan Xichen hoists her to her feet and drags her away with a single arm around her waist and his floating sword pointing to the ghost.

“She’s alive,” he says. “Weakened but alive.” He leaves her on the ground and takes a flask of pills out of his sleeve. She’s still unconscious, but no matter how much spiritual energy he infuses in her, the resentfulness invading her body steals her life away. To prevent it, Lan Xichen puts a pill in her mouth to suppress the evilness coursing through her. He presses his hand on her forehead and the woman frowns slightly. “You’ll be fine.” With that, his attention shifts to Jiang Cheng and the ghost, weary by the fight but not under their control yet.

The notes of the xiao echo in the woods stronger than before and the mist of resentfulness fades away as he cleanses the atmosphere. The ghost roars again, the sound strange and muttered because it’s out of its vessel. Its true form twisting and angered because it wouldn’t fulfill its purpose tonight and it cannot protect itself from the waving notes of the xiao. “Oh, you’re angry! Let’s settle this once and for all.” He whips Zidian with all the strength he can muster, slashing across the ethereal ghost now that he can’t hurt the villager. He also wields Sandu and points menacingly at it.

The fiend dashes toward him, mouth opened impossibly wide, an unhuman chant coming out of its mouth as though it just wanted to pass through Jiang Cheng and take his soul with it. Right when Lan Xichen puts the xiao aside and wields Shuoyue -just in case the vicious ghost holds another trump card- the fiend stops an inch away from Sandu. The tip of the spiritual sword catches a red spark from its eyes. Jiang Cheng prepares a forceful lunge forward to finish the job and eliminate the menace that has haunted Yaofen for the past weeks, but then a shrilling tune reaches his ears and makes him stop at a halt. The evil spirit stands, insubstantial and lifeless, swaying to the distant melody that has it bedazzled as though it had forgotten all past grudges, all resentfulness, and only wanted to hear the next note.

“Chenqing,” Lan Xichen gasps.

“Wei Wuxian,” he mumbles as the corner of his mouth pulls upward briefly. He never thought such name or his presence would bring joy to his heart ever again, but besides Jin Ling, Wei Wuxian is the only family he has left. A dark, slender figure hops forward from behind a tree, twirling a black flute in his right hand as he approaches Jiang Cheng.

Another graceful figure comes out of the darkness and into the silver shine of a full moon. “Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Wangji says. He wears Bichen by his side and Wangji at his back, knowing Wei Wuxian has the vicious ghost under his control. “Xiongzhang,” he greets Lan Xichen who smiles proudly at seeing them both together and unharmed after so many months without knowing their whereabouts.

“Hanguang-jun.”

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng stand one next to the other, both staring at the ghost, mesmerized as it sways to an inaudible melody. They avoid eye contact. They had seen each other only once after the Guanyin temple incident, and they exchanged angry words and also words of love. They said _I’m sorry,_ they said _thank you_. Jiang Cheng kept his promise of chasing the dogs away from Wei Wuxian and promised to keep it until the end of his days, and Wei Wuxian kept the promise he made to Madam Yu a long time ago, taking care of him in ways only a brother would. The good deeds surpassed the bad, and time gave them a new perspective.

Jiang Cheng realized how much of his past actions stirred the situation against Wei Wuxian and knowing the source of his golden core turned all his hate into a defeated sadness. There was no more room for fights or past grudges, only looking forward to the future goaded him to approach Wei Wuxian. If they still have a chance to make amends and be brothers, only time will tell.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says, granting him a smile.

“You can’t steal that prey from me unless you want to die,” Jiang Cheng warns before a half-smile conquers his until now blunt expression. Wei Wuxian chuckles, pacing around the vicious ghost as he curiously inspects it.

“We were on our way to Lotus Pier when we heard about what was happening in Yaofen,” he explains, his eyes scrutinizing the being under his spell.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “True to your husband’s fame,” he retorts, glancing briefly at the impassible stance of Lan Wangji beside his brother Lan Xichen. They truly astonish anyone who lays eyes on them, standing side by side, the Two Jades of Lan reunited for a just cause.

“We should try to liberate her soul first,” Lan Wangji says. Lan Xichen smiles at his brother, and at the poor woman still passed out at their feet, but out of danger. “If we cannot, we should suppress and eliminate the fiend.” Wei Wuxian pouts as if he had been just called out for turning the resentful ghost into a mindless puppet.

“Wait,” Jiang Cheng says as he frowns. “What can you find out about her?”

“What can’t I?” Wei Wuxian brags. He moves closer to her, whispering something unintelligible into her ear as he holds a strand of long, ethereal hair between his fingertips. His eyes close and Lan Wangji hurries to catch him into his arms before he collapses on the ground.

“Empathy?” Lan Xichen asks.

“Hm.” Lan Wangji learned a long time ago to let Wei Wuxian handle things his own way.

“Will he be okay?” Jiang Cheng asks, narrowing his eyes at the peaceful expression of Wei Wuxian, slack in his husband’s arms. Lan Wangji answers with a single nod, not at all disturbed by the situation while cradling Wei Wuxian against his chest. “What about her?” Lan Xichen kneels on the ground and lifts the woman in his arms. She’s light as a feather. Her breathing seems normal, but she’s still unconscious and probably will be for a little longer.

“She will recover,” Lan Xichen says. “The spirit only harmed the offending counterpart.”

Wei Wuxian stirs in Lan Wangji’s arms, his eyebrows knitting in a furrow. “Wei Ying,” he whispers, and after a few seconds, a pair a cunning eyes glance at him, lingering into his arms a bit longer than what would be appropriate. Wei Wuxian leaps on the ground, his hands at his back while he inspects again the ghost before them.

“I know what happened,” he says. “With this vicious ghost and with the person who summoned it.” Jiang Cheng arches a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Well?”

A long time ago, in the town of Yuanlin in the north of Yunmeng, there was a woman nor beautiful nor ugly, just a mild, regular maiden with a big heart who fell in love with the wrong man. At the age of sixteen, her parents got her engaged to the first son of a prominent family in their town thanks to a lifetime of savings put into a very generous dowry. They were overjoyed to find such a good match for her precious daughter, believing she would remain unmarried for the rest of her life because of their humble origins and her lack of talents.

She was overjoyed and spent weeks dreaming about him, idealizing her perfect future life, so she entered the marriage with high hopes for a loving and caring husband. Her childish hopes vanished soon. Nonetheless, she was a dutiful wife and devoted her life to her husband and her new household day and night. She bore no children the first year even though she prayed for them. Life wasn’t as kind to her as she had hoped, and her husband treated her no better than a servant, but she endured it because she thought that was the role the gods had assigned her.

One night though, confident to share her husband’s bed to conceive a child, she sneaked into the master bedroom. But the shy smile on her lips and the flush of her cheeks drained from her face when she found him bedding a servant of the household. The shock was such she could do nothing but stare at the raunchy scene for too long until they noticed her presence. Never even in her worst nightmares would she think of the possibility of her husband being unfaithful to her when she had been nothing less than the perfect wife to him. A rattled shriek invaded the chambers. She started screaming, pulling at her hair and falling onto her knees as her life, that had been hanging by a thin thread until then, crumbled in front of her eyes. The servant gasped, surprised, and then laughed at her in all her beautiful nudeness, in her bed, with her husband between her legs.

He tried to stop her, but she couldn’t stop screaming. She shouted until her throat was sore, her eyes bulging by horror and bleary by the many tears pouring down her face. She lost her marbles and her pride. Everything she thought she was supposed to do was a lie, everything she was brought up to. It meant nothing to that man who dared to disrespect her in their own home, or to that mistress who had a grimace of hate in her face. What would her parents think of her now? This was really what life had for her? What about her dreams? The children she wouldn’t bear, the peaceful moments of love she wouldn’t share. If that was the oh-so-called love everyone spoke about, she was ready to spit on it and reject it for life. Unable to shut her up, the servant took an incense burner in the shape of a huddled snake and handed it to her lover with a single request: _Shut her up!_

There were no more screams, no more soul-tearing cries in the middle of the night, and all her dreams, her hopes, and her pitiful life ended with a thud in the head by the man she had been devoting her life until then. What harm had she done? What ill toward him?

Lan Xichen sighs, Lan Wangji lowers his downcast gaze, and even Jiang Cheng’s eyes soften, pitying the vicious ghost in agony that still dances to a long lost melody. Wei Wuxian finishes telling the story of her life. “She died in agony and drowned in resentfulness hence she became a vengeful spirit.”

“But why is she here and not in her hometown?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Wei Wuxian ponders for a few moments before he answers. “The afterlife memories are not as easy to understand or read, but I suspect she haunted her husband and his mistress. They probably burned the body and hid their crime, adding to her already tragic story with a wrongful ending. For what I’ve seen and what she has shown me, she had already been suppressed by a cultivator, probably hired by the husband to get rid of his deceased wife’s ghost. The cultivator, instead of liberating or eliminating the vicious ghost, trapped her soul to use it to their benefit.”

“Demonic cultivation,” Lan Xichen mumbles.

“Indeed,” Wei Wuxian says with a sigh. “I suspect she has been building up resentful energy and reliving over and over the night she died while trapped in a pouch. The cultivator probably sold her for a good price.”

“It’s been common practice to capture evil beings to sell them to the highest bidder,” Jiang Cheng says with a serious tone. His crusade against demonic cultivation started after Wei Wuxian’s death and turned into something more honorable nowadays. The practitioners are not pursued unless they harm others, like in this case.

“I don’t believe this happened long ago, but those are just my assumptions, we should check the facts and…”

“They will pay,” Jiang Cheng interrupts. “I will send a group of cultivators to Yuanlin to explain her whereabouts to her family and she will get a proper funeral. Her husband will have to pay for the expenses, compensate the family and return the dowry in full. He will honor his deceased wife, then he will be judged for their crime along with his mistress.”

“You heard that, sister?” Wei Wuxian says, leaning over to speak to the spirit. “We’ll find revenge for you, make your husband pay, and the man who trapped you too.” As if silver droplets trickled down her non-existent cheeks, the ghost lets out a heartbreaking cry. “You don’t have to do this anymore, you’re free, and you can rest now.”

A cloud reveals a full moon that seems to shine even brighter now, casting its silver shine over the small party gathered in the dark. She had a good heart in life and was a kind person. Resentful energy clung to her spirit and now disperses while Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian play a melody to liberate her soul. The high-pitched notes of the woodwind contrast with the deep, rich notes of the string instrument and fill the night with hope and a pleasing tune that vanishes the ghostly mist surrounding them. The cry of the spirit muffles as her soul disperses as shooting stars into a starry sky. Hopefully, her next life isn’t as harsh as this one.

A few moments of silence envelopes them before Wei Wuxian hangs Chenqing by his side and speaks again, oblivious to how Jiang Cheng gives an anxious glance to the flute. “Someone playing with demonic cultivation captured this soul and another someone definitely summoned it to carry on their revenge…” Wei Wuxian adds.

“It won’t be easy to find them,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, finally sheathing Sandu while Zidian wraps around his finger.

“Our sister told me the name of the person who summoned her,” Wei Wuxian says right before a shit-eating grin appears on his face. “Maybe they can help us find who sold it to them and take responsibility for the mess here. We just need to find someone that goes by the name of Ying Yue.”

“Let’s go back and settle this tonight.” Jiang Cheng nods to Wei Wuxian and heads back to the cottage when a thread of voice reaches them from Lan Xichen’s arms.

“Where am I?” The woman asks behind hooded lids, flinching when she realizes she’s in the arms of a man. “What a handsome man you are.” She blushes at her own words, averting his gaze more for being utterly besotted with the sight than from shyness, but she turns her gaze to Lan Wangji and her eyes widen even more as if she wanted to take in all his peerless beauty before it vanishes. “Am I dreaming? Or dead in heaven?”

“You are safe,” Lan Xichen says, suppressing a chuckle that gets out when the woman can’t stop staring at his brother. Lan Wangji shoots a rescue glance to Wei Wuxian who takes his arm and follows Jiang Cheng, leaving Lan Xichen and the woman in the rear of the party.

“Oh… that old mess cheated on me,” she says when she realizes she can’t remember the past two days but the vague idea of the ghost endangering his husband crosses her mind. “Did I kill him?”

“No,” Lan Xichen says with a reassuring smile. “He’s scared but unharmed.”

“Good,” she answers, happy to be carried by Lan Xichen. “’Cause I’m gonna tell him a couple of things before I kill him myself.” Lan Xichen notes the subtle sarcasm and gives a faint chuckle, completely sure she won’t harm her husband despite her words.

Failing to have found the culprit yet, they liberated the spirit’s soul and also returned the mean wife to her husband. Before they leave, Jiang Cheng compensates the couple for the mess in their home. They ask for the whereabouts of someone called Ying Yue who happens to be a young woman that moved recently to Yaofen because she’s engaged to one of the farmers.

“Is this the house?” Lan Xichen asks to the villager kind enough to leave his home at night and guide them to her neighbor’s farm. The man nods. “Thank you for your trouble.”

Jiang Cheng knocks and a young man no older than twenty opens the door as the blood drains from his face. “What happened? W-who are you?” His eyes flick from the two men dressed in white that could be immortals fallen from heaven to the man in black with a flute by his sash, but when his eyes land on Jiang Cheng, he recognizes the ruler of Yunmeng. “S-sect Leader Jiang.” He bows his head, “Please,” and opens the door to let them in.

“Where is your wife?” Jiang Cheng inquires, his eyes seeking the place until he spots a beautiful, young maiden, swathed by an embroidered shawl. She pries from behind a wooden door, and Jiang Cheng beckons her to get out.

“My wife? I live with my fiancée, we will get married in a few days. I know it’s unorthodox, but…” the youth babbles. “We are still saving money to bring her family here…” Astonished by the sudden party crowding his two-room shack, he calls for her: “A-Yue, come here, please!”

A slender, young woman comes out of her hiding place, tears already trickling down her cheeks, her breath caught up in her chest. “Are you Ying Yue?” Wei Wuxian asks with a charming smile on his lips. She sobs again while she nods at the question, guiltiness brimming in her eyes. “You two aren’t properly married yet?” She shakes his head effusively. “That could explain everything.”

As far as he knows, the spirit had a contract of blood and name, that’s why during Empathy the spirit could guide him to someone called Ying Yue. The spirit couldn’t satiate its hunger with the person who summoned it because she didn’t have a husband, so it broke free from the contract and sought revenge somewhere else. Luckily for the young maiden, otherwise her fiancé would be dead. Unfaithful or not, the vengeful ghost would’ve killed the husband of the person cursing him no matter what and then it would’ve returned to the cultivator’s pouch to be sold again.

“What did you do?” The youth asks as he stares at his fiancée.

“I… I…” Ying Yue starts crying, tears welling in her eyes as she covers her face with trembling hands.

“We know,” Lan Xichen says with a comforting voice. “It’s time to be honest now.” She locks eyes with him and nods, trying to collect herself.

“It was me,” she sobs.

“What have you done, A-Yue?” Jiang Cheng lifts a hand, and the youth seals his lips.

“I summoned… something, I think,” she confesses. “It was my fault, all those deaths… but I didn’t know it would be like this. I only wanted… I…” She bursts into tears again, and Wei Wuxian approaches her to calm her down.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Wei Wuxian says, hoping she finds the strength to confess.

“Weeks ago, before I moved to Yaofen, I was so scared of my future marriage.” She spares a glance to her fiancé with eyes full of regret. “You see, my father has two concubines and has been an adulterous husband all his life, making my mother miserable. I didn’t want to end up like her, so when I saw a merchant offering a miraculous solution to all your problems, I had to take a look and… I spent my dowry’s money.”

“Who was this person?”

“A man that comes once or twice a month to my home town’s marketplace,” she says. “He has a bad reputation and sells potions, talismans, and such things…” Ying Yue meets her fiancé’s eyes and tears start pouring again, but she bites back a sob and continues her story. “I told him I didn’t want my husband to be unfaithful, and he sold me a talisman. He said it was foolproof, that I wouldn’t have to stand my husband cheating on me if I followed the instructions. He promised me he’ll never cheat on me ever again.”

Ying Yue endures the pitiful glances of the men staring at her. “That’s understandable,” Wei Wuxian says. “We all make mistakes. Now tell me, what did you do?”

“I… I had to soak the talisman in my blood…”

“You told me you had hurt your wrist in the garden!” The youth hisses at her in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” she says in a thread of voice before her eyes go back to Wei Wuxian. “Then I had to burn it and recite this until the fire extinguished.” Ying Yue takes a crumpled-up paper out of her pouch and hands it over to Wei Wuxian.

“You’ve been fooled indeed, this is demonic cultivation,” he confirms their suspicions.

“Ying Yue!” His husband chides, gobsmacked.

“A lesser offering, and a very sloppy contract with the spirit,” he mumbles, handing the piece of paper to Jiang Cheng to hold as proof against the mysterious merchant.

“You knew what this would do?” Jiang Cheng asks with a ruthless glare.

“I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t know that it would kill anyone!” Ying Yue says clear and loud.

“The vicious spirit you summoned was instructed to kill your husband, unfaithful or not, and when it discovered you had none, it rejected the contract and decided to hunt in Yaofen,” Wei Wuxian explains while the girl has nothing but tears for him. “Otherwise it would have returned to the cultivator under its command after killing your fiancé, but we liberated her soul.”

“I thought it would give him a rash or something if he cheated on me so I knew,” she sobs again, glancing at her fiancé for mercy. “The first night nothing happened, and I thought I had nothing to fear, that you were loyal to me, but then a man died, and… you know the rest.”

“Do you really believe I would cheat on you?” The man gets closer to her, his eyes bleary. “How are we even going to get married if you don’t trust me?” Her eyes widen, fear coursing through her at those words. “I’ve always been loyal to you. Even the year we were apart, and I had to travel two hours to visit you at your parent’s home every fortnight… and yet you won’t trust me.” Her shoulders shake as she trembles and cries inconsolably at how she has been the one betraying her future husband with her mistrust.

Angered as he is, the youth cradles her in his arms, fearful of the consequences of her foolishness. “W-what will happen to her?” he stutters.

Jiang Cheng clicks his tongue. “The widows of Yaofen will decide your fate in this town. If you are cast away or allowed to live here. The council will supervise the trial to make sure it’s just. You won’t pay with your life.” The youth exhales, relieved.

“Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang.”

“We will find the man who sold this to you and he will pay for the lives the vicious spirit has taken,” Jiang Cheng says, but then scoffs. “But if you ever play again with demonic cultivation, I won’t take your innocence for granted and I’ll imprison you for life.” He turns, ready to leave the humble shack when he glances over his shoulder at the soon-to-be-married couple. “And I can tell you the rumors about how I treat my prisoners are fact.” A bolt of purple lightning flashes through his blue eyes to mark his words, scaring the death out of her.

The party leaves the place and, after Jiang Cheng informs the men stationed here about the issue, they mount their swords and fly to Yunmeng. There have been five deaths, but Ying Yue was a foolish girl with no intentions to kill anyone. He has instructed the cultivators to locate her home town and inquire further about the mysterious merchant selling foul and dangerous trinkets. Who knows the evilness naïve people like Ying Yue could unleash because of him?

Lan Xichen is grateful for the darkness of the night and the cold breeze as they travel, but then Wei Wuxian breaks their peaceful silence. “You were always a charmer with the girls, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian teases, flying with Lan Wangji on Bichen.

“Shut up,” he retorts, flying a few meters ahead to avoid their company for the rest of the journey. But only with the moon as a witness, a wry smile stretches his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! (⁄ ⁄^⁄ᗨ⁄^⁄ ⁄) I call the next chapter the "brotherly bonding" one, I believe you can guess why...
> 
> See y'all next Tuesday! (∩｡･ｏ･｡)っ.ﾟ☆｡’`


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ )

Night has already fallen, but the many lanterns splattering the pier guide them as they glimpse their destination in the distance. Jiang Cheng’s heart swells when he admires his home from afar. The heart-breaking memories of the residence on fire and the piers destroyed and turned to ashes are less and less frequent as time passes and he finds himself coming back to somewhere called home again. There was a time when he would get out of bed believing his family was still alive only to realize it had been a treacherous dream; and there were others in which he had to run toward the nearest balcony to see if Lotus Pier was on fire or not, the stench of blood and burned wood clinging to his nostrils.

They land on the training field, illuminated by torches and guarded by the night patrols. It’s not so late to end the day yet, and Jiang Cheng dreads the conversation they will need to have regarding Nie Mingjue’s fate. As far as he knows, Nie Huaisang only sent a brief message asking Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji to come to Lotus Pier regarding an issue with the coffin, but it had to be beguiling enough since they are both here at the designated date. What trick did he pull out of his sleeve to convince Hanguang-jun and Wei Wuxian to help him, he doesn’t know. He’s aware of the ones he played on him, and Jiang Cheng gladly allowed it.

“You did it,” Wei Wuxian says as they walk toward the main residence. Jiang Cheng stops at a halt, remembering something.

“I didn’t do it alone.” That’s how far he’ll go admitting they both played their part returning glory and honor to the Yunmeng Jiang Sect. “I would like you to come with me somewhere.” Lan Wangji turns about as if his ears had lifted, casting an anxious glance to Wei Wuxian. The last time they were here things ended badly and Jiang Cheng lost his temper. But Wei Ying whispers something into his ear and pats his arm, inching his way toward his shidi with not a trace of fear in his eyes.

Who would’ve thought the man he couldn’t face months ago would start to feel like a friend again? The same who kicked them out and threatened them so they’d never come back. However, there is something strange about the truth coming out in the open that allows the wounds to heal. “Let’s go,” Wei Wuxian says, locking eyes with Jiang Cheng. Hopefully, in time, they will be brothers again.

Lan Wangji follows them with his gaze until they get lost in the buildings behind the training field. He knows where they are going, and the corners of his mouth pull slightly upward. “He will be fine,” Lan Xichen says.

“Hm.”

“Wangji.” His brother averts his gaze from the distance, his glass-like eyes meeting Lan Xichen’s. His face is an emotionless mask as it has always been, but there’s a spark behind his eyes, imperceptible for everyone but for him. “You seem happy,” he says, offering him a genuine smile.

“I am,” Lan Wangji says, his eyes cast downward. “I wanted to visit you again. Sooner.”

“You worry too much,” Lan Xichen plays down his brother’s concerns. “I am fine,” he lies.

Lan Wangji fears he follows their father’s footsteps and distances himself from the world to bear his burden in solitude. Lan Xichen took a hard blow at the Guanyin Temple. His life crumbled before his eyes and everything he believed right and true became a smokescreen thanks to his sworn brother. He cannot imagine how he has the strength to smile and carry on with the duties of Sect Leader when everybody gossips about his naiveness. Then Lan Wangji remembers how his brother helped him through after Wei Wuxian’s death and a sad smile stretches his lips for a moment, a pity Lan Xichen doesn’t notice, his eyes lifted at the starry sky.

“Do you know why we’re here?” Lan Xichen says, turning about to find the comfort of his brother’s pristine face.

“Wei Ying told me.”

“What are your thoughts?”

After a deep breath, Lan Wangji speaks. “Liberate. Suppress. Eliminate,” he says, quoting Lan Qiren way to proceed. “We suppressed it, but we never tried liberating his soul.”

The Gusu Lan Sect’s methods, the same as the cultivation world, are clearly stated. If a fiend, ghost or fierce corpse cannot be freed, granting them their dying wish as they just did with the vengeful spirit from Yaofen, the next option is what they already did back in the Guanyin Temple. They suppressed the resentful energy and encased Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao for their souls to find either destruction or redemption in the next hundred years. The third option is the hardest one.

“But what if…” Lan Xichen cannot even think about erasing his presence from this world. If the resentful energy cannot dissipate and the crimes are extremely wrongful, extermination is the only way to proceed. They didn’t consider this option for the sake of Nie Mingjue’s soul, and being so entangled to Jin Guangyao’s resentfulness, the safest option was to suppress them together in the coffin. To eliminate one while liberating the other never crossed their minds at the moment. “What if we fail? If we have to banish him from this world forever? His soul destroyed…”

“Chifeng-zun won’t suffer anymore,” Lan Wangji finishes for him as though he also deemed extinction is preferable than an eternity chained to Jin Guangyao.

“This will be foul and dangerous,” Lan Xichen ponders.

“But as Wei Ying would say,” Lan Wangji smiles tenderly. “What would be life without those?”

“You were always the wiser one,” Lan Xichen teases, listening to his words in disbelief. “But what about the consequences? I don’t really know Huaisang’s plan, but what if this is more than we can handle? What if we shouldn’t mess with this kind of wrongful end?”

Lan Wangji ponders his words for a moment, reaching an obvious conclusion. Sometimes one needs to think with the heart and discern of what’s wrong or right based on the circumstances. Nothing’s black or white anymore in his life. “Fight for the ones you care. Wait for the one you love.”

“Is that what you’d do?” Lan Wanji nods and hums. “I’m being selfish wanting him back.” A gust of wind sends a frisson through his spine; or perhaps is fear.

“There is no such trait in you, Xiongzhang. You deserve happiness.”

“Maybe it’s not meant for me,” Lan Xichen says. “I want to be worthy of the title I inherited, I could teach and devote my life to everything that’s right in this world.” His eyes burn, wanting to shed the tears they haven’t today. “But I miss him… and I wish he were here. I wish I had done more, that he…” Unable to form the words, he sighs, wrinkling his eyes shut while a pair of clear droplets trickle down his cheeks. He hopes the darkness conceals them.

The silence of the night envelopes them, the mere presence of his brother beside him offers the most precious consolation he could ever need. They’ve always been like a reflection of the other, similar but inherently different at the same time. When Lan Xichen is about to give up and sneak inside, Lan Wangji speaks again. “I thought I would never see Wei Ying again.” Lan Xichen stares at him. This is the first time his brother speaks about that time. “I thought his soul had shattered, and that I had lost who never was mine, to begin with.” It shrinks his heart how they have shared the same fate with such different outcomes. “Wait for the one you love,” Lan Wangji repeats, his clear-as-glass eyes finding his and offering the sincerest comfort; the one that comes from the heart and selfless love. Lan Xichen smiles, shaking his head at how much his brother has changed.

“Tell me about you, Wangji,” Lan Xichen asks. “How’s married life treating you?” Lan Wangji blushes visibly even under the dim light of the torches and the silver shine of the moon. “Where have you been? Indulge your older brother with your happy memories.”

“Hm.” Lan Wangji nods.

In another part of Lotus Pier, not far from where the two brothers have a long due heart to heart, another pair of brothers walk abreast in silence. Wei Wuxian fears opening his mouth and saying something inappropriate, and Jiang Cheng coincidentally feels the same. He believes cursing at him would come out more organically than gentle words, so he says nothing. They had never been good at communicating with each other, and it was so long ago when they busied themselves shooting kites and fooling around. They never interacted properly as adults. At least not with the wisdom of reaching thirty.

Jiang Cheng sneaks a glance at Wei Wuxian, realizing that in his soul, in his mind, he’s still the twenty years old Wei Wuxian he knew and grew to hate. How blind was he back then? There are so many things to forgive that neither will forget. Many harsh words, many mistakes, reckless decisions that brought pain to both their lives. They loved each other so much they hated each other the most. It’s easier to rebuild a whole city than their relationship. And yet here they are. Jiang Cheng held his feelings inside, brooding on his jealousy, the sentiment of never being good enough, unable to surpass Wei Ying’s effortless achievements. He wished back then he would have someone to tell him that what he felt was what siblings usually do, that they were what Wei Wuxian promised, the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng. Wei Wuxian cost him so much, Jiang Cheng cost so much to him too. He clutches his hand over his chest while his eyebrows knit in concern.

Nie Huaisang said time heals everything, but Jiang Cheng also knows time kills everything. Whenever he remembers Jiang Yanli, he cannot feel hatred toward Wei Wuxian anymore. He would want to have her back, and he wants him back. The family that was ripped away from him.

“You rebuilt the area where I was staying back then,” Wei Wuxian says distractedly, passing by a luxuriously decorated building and not recognizing it.

“Here is where you and Hanguang-jun will be staying.” Wei Wuxian stares at him, unblinking. “I said I’d rebuilt Lotus Pier as it was before, and I did. This is your residence.” Jiang Cheng turns about to look at him. “You’ll have to carve your stupid drawings on the headboard again,” he scoffs.

Wei Wuxian’s heart shrink. “Where did we grow apart?” he asks, both staring at the delicate wind chime dangling in the nightly breeze and twinkling little noises.

“I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng shrugs.

“It was my…”

Jiang Cheng shushes him, his hand clenched in a tight fist to measure his words. He wants to tell him he got caught chasing the wen-dogs away, that he wanted Wei Wuxian to be safe, but like Wei Ying never told him about the sacrifice he made giving him his golden core, he cannot tell him now; nor ever. He will carry that secret to his grave. “What’s the point of looking back? You’ve made your mistakes, I’ve made mine, and now we’re here again.” For the sake of their future, Jiang Cheng stops dwelling on the past and focuses on the present. He has Nie Huaisang, he has Jin Ling, and he has his brother back in Lotus Pier. What else could he ask for?

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath. “Without them,” he mumbles. Jiang Cheng turns to meet his gaze and finds the same sentiments that shrink his heart. Pain, regret, sorrow.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Jiang Cheng mutters, placing a hand over Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. His eyes open wide in surprise, and he bites back a sob with a grin.

“I’m glad to be back,” he answers instead as Jiang Cheng resumes the slow stroll through a quieter place in Lotus Pier. Guest residences, pagodas, and tea houses. Wei Wuxian catches up with him in two strides. “Why did you keep Chenqing all those years?”

“It was a piece of you,” Jiang Cheng answers. “If you ever came back, you’d want it, so you’d have to come to me, to come back home.” Wei Wuxian sighs, peeking at Jiang Cheng’s profile darkened by the shadows of the wooden buildings around them. “It’s childish, I know. Then it turned into something dark that I’m not proud of.”

“I have a handful of those too,” Wei Wuxian quips. Distracted with the conversation, he can only look at his feet and the ground he once called home.

“Suibian is here. You gave it back but…” Jiang Cheng struggles to find the words. An eternity ago, he carried two swords with him all the time. Sandu and Suibian. Wei Wuxian was missing and Jiang Cheng knew he would found him. He realizes now that he would’ve worn both swords until today if Wei Wuxian hadn’t come back when he did. He also carried Chenqing with him for thirteen years. Easier to hide. “Father gave it to you, and although I know why you didn’t… couldn’t wield it back then.” His eyes lift and find Wei Wuxian again. It becomes easier the more time they spent together; familiar. “But you can now, and you are still part of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan even though -he snorts and erases Wei Wuxian’s worrisome furrow- even though you married into the Gusu Lan Clan in the end.”

Wei Wuxian chuckles, nudging him with his shoulder before he realizes what he has done. Jiang Cheng seems to appreciate the gesture. But he says nothing. Suibian reminds him of a time of his life he barely remembers, and he was so proud of his sword once and then neglected from it. Perhaps in the future, the spiritual weapon and his new golden core can reconcile like he and Jiang Cheng are trying.

Avoiding putting pressure on the subject, Jiang Cheng jokes: “I always knew you had a crush on him and couldn’t admit it.”

“You could’ve told me.” It’s Wei Wuxian’s time to laugh. “But I wasn’t the one sneaking around to kiss a certain someone…”

“You knew?” Wei Wuxian nods and a hearty laugh escapes him. This reminds him of home, of another life, a happier one, and it’s not just about the place. For some reason, he wished Lan Wangji was present so he could share this joy with him.

Jiang Cheng clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “There won’t be time for jokes or celebrations later,” he says. “But I bought a few jars of Emperor’s Smile the last time I was in Gusu.”

“Since when are you so nice?” Wei Wuxian teases, hoping in front of him and walking backward with a grin baring his teeth. “Is it because of Huaisang?”

“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Don’t ruin it.” Wei Wuxian holds his stomach while laughing, almost tripping when his heels topple over the front stairs of a building. “You can’t drink any of it now. I forbid it.”

“Hey, Jiang Cheng!”

“Final words. I’m the Sect Leader.”

“Let’s go back, I bet I still can drink you under the table,” he jests. He feels as if a weight had lifted off his shoulders.

“Sadly, that’s not the kind of reunion that awaits us,” Jiang Cheng says, his smile fading. “And…” He points with his chin at the black pagoda rising in front of them. “You owe them a bow.” Wei Wuxian turns about, his eyes brimming with emotion when he realizes where they are. He was so caught up with their conversation that he thought they were just strolling around Lotus Pier, but they were actually heading to the Yunmeng Jiang Sect’s Ancestral Hall. “Hanguang-jun can settle his debt later too.” Overwhelmed by emotion, Wei Wuxian smiles at Jiang Cheng and then walks inside, his heart swelling with love, respect, and all the things he never thought he’d find again in Lotus Pier.

Not long after the quiet recess of the returning party, Nie Huaisang watches from a high balcony the two spotless figures standing in the training field. The two Jades of Lan could thwart his plan if they believe is too reckless or too close to demonic cultivation, and as much as he hates it, he needs them. Then he notices Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng coming back closer than they left. A sly smile stretches his lips. Being on his own, he doesn’t feel the need to cover it up, but out of habit, he flicks his fan open and hides behind it. He stares at the scene until they head back to the main residence and he loses sight of them.

The only one he needs to convince is Wei Wuxian, and he seemed interested enough to drag Lan Wangji along. The message he sent to them was simple and more important, based exclusively in the truth. A call for help they couldn’t refuse. What they will discuss and what they are about to do though, exceeds his prediction capabilities. He has on his sleeve Lan Xichen’s past love for his brother, and perhaps that’s enough to convince him to open the coffin and deal with what’s inside. They must’ve figured that part out by now, but the rest is simply unpredictable. Once they unleash the horrors inside the carefully sealed and suppressed coffin, nobody, not even the Yiling Patriarch, can predict what will happen. They will have to deal with what’s inside in the middle of the dark and with no one knowing it.

If they refuse, he’ll get his brother out of there one way or another, Nie Huaisang promises to himself, going down the stairs at a leisurely pace, lost in his thoughts and intrigues. Part of him shudders at how dangerous this is. He has guarded himself of anything he considered out of his capabilities, he even survived a war hidden in the depths of the Cloud Recesses while others fought for freedom. This could get out of control very easily, and someone could die.

After so many months trapped in there, Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse is unpredictable and so is Jin Guangyao’s. The resentful energy contained could create a blast and send them all to hell in an instant, and it could be all for nothing; perhaps his brother’s soul is long consumed and there’s nothing they can do about it.

Nevertheless, Nie Huaisang won’t give up. He will try even if it brings his own death upon himself. He was once so scared of Nie Mingjue, of disappointing him, then it turned into a love-hate relationship, his brother acting like the father he didn’t have while trying to make him follow a path that was not meant for him. But right now, Nie Huaisang would give anything to hear him yell: “Huaisang, where is your saber?”

What hurts him the most is that he was oblivious to Jin Guangyao’s intentions and played a role in his brother’s death. The gifts that angered Nie Mingjue so much, the guqin melody that he overheard coming out of his chambers, that fake smile he learned by heart and haunts him in his nightmares. His big brother was right; he was carefree and a good-for-nothing, and he paid for his childishness.

Before his foot touches the last step, there’s a smile on his lips that widens when he locks eyes with Jiang Cheng. “Hanguang-jun. Master Wei,” he greets. “Welcome to Lotus Pier.”

 

The cultivation world lives oblivious to the five cultivators sharing a not-so-quiet dinner in a discreet parlor of Lotus Pier as if they were just old friends reunited. What happened in Yaofen won’t go unnoticed though, and the news of Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch in Yunmeng will spread like gunpowder. The servants of the Jiang residence whisper in the halls, wondering why are they here but too scared to stick their ears to any door and listen to a forbidden truth.

“We will have to do it tomorrow night,” Nie Huaisang says. “The first line defending the coffin belongs to the Gusu Lan Sect, but if both of you come, they won’t question your presence nor ours. The next is Sect Leader Jiang and mine, and they are loyal cultivators that won’t betray us either.”

A servant enters carrying a tray with a jar of wine and a teapot, staring fixedly at the tray and fearful to even lift their eyes from their hands when they leave it on the table. Wei Wuxian thanks them nonetheless and they scoot toward the door and seals the room again. “I will have to inspect Baxia,” Wei Wuxian says while Jiang Cheng pours a cup of wine for Nie Huaisang and another one for Wei Ying. “It wouldn’t be the first time I use a sword brimming with resentful energy.” He shoots a sidelong glance to his husband.

“Hm.” Lan Wangji hums derogatorily.

Wei Wuxian swirls the contents of the cup with a pensive furrow between his brows. The Stygian Tiger Seal was the product of a rusty, old sword with so much resentment it pierced through his soul with the screams of the dead ringing into his ears just by wielding it. “It didn’t turn out great.”

“But this is different,” Nie Huaisang hurries to say. “Baxia is a rightful spirit.”

“They respect Nie Mingjue,” Lan Xichen intervenes. “They conduct themselves by their master’s code. I’d dare to say they remember.”

“In theory, yes,” Wei Wuxian says.

“But?” Jiang Cheng turns the attention of the table to him and answers his own question. “What if it wants its master back? What if once Chifeng-zun is reunited with his saber they become something impossible to control?” He had been quiet until then, but he has voiced out loud everyone’s concerns regarding what will happen when they open the coffin.

“We have the great Hanguang-jun on our side,” Wei Wuxian jokes, nudging his husband. He rests his arm over a bent knee, the cup hanging from his fingers, and puffs out a big sigh. “We won’t know until we pry inside.”

“Are we? Should we?” Lan Xichen cradles the warm tea in his hands.

“If three sect leaders, the Yiling Patriarch, and the righteous Hanguang-jun cannot deal with the menace…” Nie Huaisang sips his wine and then fans himself even though the gentle breeze doesn’t prevent the blush on his cheeks nor hides the half-smile on his lips. “Then I don’t know…”

Silence creeps upon them like an impromptu nightfall, taking away the brightness of the sun and waking up evil creatures to hunt and haunt. They all thought they were done with conspiracies, that they had buried the issue and forgotten about it -some more than others- but this makes them all relive the events of that fateful night at the Guanyin Temple. It hasn’t even been reconstructed. No one wants to live there, no one wants to step remotely close to the area because of what happened there that night. An army of dead prostitutes, Chifeng-zun’s fierce corpse out of control, Jin Guangyao showing his true face. So, there’s a big square of nothing in the middle of the city, waiting for a new generation to be bold enough to utilize the space again.

“We should try to liberate his soul,” Lan Wangji says, startling them all. “It’s the proper way to proceed.”

“That is all I want,” Nie Huaisang agrees.

Lan Xichen leaves the teacup carefully on the table. “Master Wei,” he says, locking eyes with Wei Wuxian and finding a spark of excitement in them. “I thought Mingjue-xiong’s soul was already destroyed and shattered because he lost consciousness that night.” He spares a quick glance to Nie Huaisang, but the folding fan hides half his face and his hazel eyes reveal nothing.

“His soul was consumed by evil and resentful energy, yes.” Wei Wuxian nods. “Destroyed? I don’t think so. He recognized you and your melody as a fierce corpse even without a head over his shoulders.” The memory churns Lan Xichen’s stomach. “Not only once but twice.” 

Nie Mingjue’s headless corpse walked toward him, following the flow of his spiritual energy as he played the xiao. He recognized Liebing, the melody, _him._  And that is precisely the moment his eyes couldn’t ignore the evidence of the corpse dressed in a ragged burial tunic and skin ashen with the kiss of death. At the Guanyin temple, it was even harder to look at him with his head stitched on to his body but a pair of white, lifeless eyes instead of the warm, brown eyes of Nie Mingjue. Wei Wuxian continues: “Back then, he was blinded by Jin Guangyao’s presence and the amount of blood in the place, his desire for revenge overlapping everything else. I still wonder who sewed his head back in place…” Nie Huaisang stiffens. “...or where did Jin Guangyao hid Chifeng-zun’s head while half the guests at Jinlin entered his private chambers.” He grants Nie Huaisang an amused smile. “Only to lose it right after.”

“Whoever found it, most likely,” Nie Huaisang answers distractedly and downs a mouthful of wine.

“Does it matter now?” Jiang Cheng mutters.

“Can we grant him his death wish once we open the coffin? Will he find peace?” Lan Xichen tries not to sound anxious, but if there’s no chance at all of success, they shouldn’t meddle with the coffin no matter how much it pains him. He will never get over his two sworn brothers consumed by evil and revenge, but eliminating them seems even crueler.

“Chifeng-zun granted himself his death wish when he killed Jin Guangyao,” Wei Wuxian answers. “He was already weakened, but the final blow was his. What we have to consider is if he can come back from that dark place.” Somehow, Wei Wuxian’s point of view on the situation makes his burden less unbearable, Lan Xichen stabbed Jin Guangyao through the heart but he had signed his death sentence long ago.

His deceptive sworn brother climbed up the ranks killing everyone in his way and keeping the rest behind a veil of lies and _unavoidable_ actions. How many of his deeds are still unknown? How many lives did he sacrifice to become Chief Cultivator of the known world? Nie Mingjue was the only one determined to stop him in his tracks and he got killed and dismembered, and even then, Lan Xichen felt a bitter taste in his mouth when he stabbed Jin Guangyao when he should have enjoyed revenge. But sad as it is, there is no place in his heart for hate.

Everyone listens to Wei Wuxian attentively. He’s a leading light in Demonic Cultivation. Albeit the practice has been deprecated and criticized by the cultivation world because the users under its practice were usually lesser cultivators with desires of grandeur; same as the Sects adopted some of Wei Wuxian’s inventions such as the flag attracting talismans, they have learned to utilize his expertise similarly to how the Qinghe Nie Sect uses corpses about to transform to grant peace to his ancestors’ sabers. If the means are righteous, everyone nowadays tolerates Demonic Cultivation.

“It depends on his soul and his soul alone.” Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Xichen. “Once we suppress the resentfulness around them, if living means anything to Nie Mingjue, if he’s able to leave the hatred and rage against his murderer behind, his soul could be freed and he will find peace.”

“What if he cannot?” Lan Xichen asks before Nie Huaisang parts his lips to ask exactly the same.

“If he drowns in his own vengeful desires, he could be in that coffin fighting Jin Guangyao for all eternity, feeding on each other’s resentfulness.” Wei Wuxian frowns, sipping his wine. “It’s hard to predict, but if we cannot suppress what we unleash...”

“Could we lose him forever?” Nie Huaisang asks, overcoming the lump constricting his throat.

“It’s either that or -Lan Xichen breathes out- or we chain him again in there.”

“No.” Nie Huaisang shakes his head. “Not that.” He leans onto Jiang Cheng as if he was somehow defeated and nursing a headache from the conversation. “Wei-xiong?”

All eyes turn to Wei Wuxian as if he was the one with the last word on the matter, as if he could know what dangers await them in this adventure to rectify the wrongdoings of their past and grant peace to the one person who, even pieced out and turned into a fierce corpse, fought to unravel the truth and unmask Jin Guangyao. With a little help of Nie Huaisang to break free and a lot more from Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji to find the scattered pieces of his soul and body.

“Let me get this straight,” Wei Wuxian says, the corner of his mouth pulling upward. “We will open a coffin after all the trouble we went through to seal it not once but twice. We will try to control Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse soaked in resentful energy with Baxia, an unpredictable saber that gets stronger in the presence of their master and that happens to feed of resentfulness. Not to mention that we don’t know what happened to Jin Guangyao or his soul. His remains have been trapped there for months and he probably turned into… something not pleasant.” Wei Wuxian pauses. “All to exploit a negligible possibility of freeing Nie Mingjue’s soul?”

“Is it possible?” Lan Xichen asks.

“Yes.”

“Then that is exactly what we’re doing,” Jiang Cheng says, downing a cup of wine while meeting those beautiful, hazel eyes, wondering when did he fall so in love with Nie Huaisang that he’d turn the world upside down for a single please. “It’s settled then.” The fan hides Nie Huaisang from the rest of the table, but he can’t hide from him.

“One more thing,” Wei Wuxian says, leaning on the wooden surface and directing his words to Lan Xichen. “I don’t want to get ahead of ourselves but if we liberate his soul, Chifeng-zun will be able to reincarnate.”

“Yes, but that is out of our control,” Lan Xichen says, squinting his eyes at Wei Wuxian and the seemingly innocent statement.

“I should…”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji interrupts, almost begging with his eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to know if it were me?” That simple question makes Lan Wangji sigh and fix the downcast glance to his lap.

“Wangji?” Lan Xichen frowns.

“I may have an idea,” Wei Wuxian says.

Since they got Nie Huaisang’s request, informing them that he wanted to liberate his brother’s soul from the fate that was forced upon him first by Jin Guangyao and after by the rest of the cultivators too scared to deal with his fierce corpse, Wei Wuxian had been thinking about the issue, pondering the possibilities. Lan Wangji knew he had decided to help when he spent two days rambling and speaking nonsense about the power of the left hand back in the Cloud Recesses when everything started, about how his soul pieced together, and how his purpose in life became his purpose in death. He had always found their dear friend’s behavior fascinating, and now they have a real chance to do right by him.

Wei Wuxian had said to Lan Wangji: “If I came back from the dead when they threw me in Luanzang Hill after being exposed to so much resentful energy without tainting my heart or my soul, why can’t Chifeng-zun’s soul be strong enough to overcome this?” The cultivation world sealed them in a coffin and threw the key away because it was the easiest thing to do, but not the right decision.

“Wei-xiong?” Wei Wuxian’s internal rambling has the whole table on tenterhooks except Lan Wangji who knows exactly what he’s thinking about and worries for his brother’s reaction.

“When Nie Huaisang mentioned the coffin, I figured he wanted to help Chifeng-zun somehow, so I started thinking about it, and when I saw Zewu-jun at Yaofen… an old theory came to my mind.” He glances at Lan Wangji, that grants him a weary smile and nods. “I believe it’s possible for his soul to preserve the memories of this life intact. His childhood, his expertise, not his cultivation, but he will remember… everything.”

“Wouldn’t that be a cruel fate if he reincarnates in five hundred years and no one of his loved ones is around?” Lan Xichen asks. “Is that even possible?”

“It is. When I woke up Wen Ning, he had his memories because I sealed them to his soul and his dead corpse, he remembers and he can even form new ones for as long as he _exists_ ,” Wei Wuxian explains. “Once his soul leaves this world, he will be able to reincarnate as well although he won’t remember any of this in his next life.”

“But I won’t bring him back as a fierce corpse, I’ve made that very clear,” Lan Xichen says, his hands clenched into fists over his lap. “I won’t allow it.”

“That is not what Wei-xiong is proposing,” Nie Huaisang says, closing his fan shut. “Is it?”

“According to my theories, I can seal his memories to his soul and if -he hesitates, wondering how to word his theory out loud- if your souls ever touch again, Chifeng-zun will remember.” Lan Xichen feels the room spinning around him, the only sure thing his knees on the floor. “You’d be the catalyst for it to happen, perhaps you two could meet in another life, this life, the next or even immortality. He will no longer be condemned and shackled to that coffin.”

“If Mingjue-xiong reincarnates and we touch, he will remember… me?” To Lan Xichen, everything sounds like a far-fetched dream he shouldn’t be having.

“You, and everything about this life, and his potential present life,” Wei Wuxian answers. His voice doesn’t sound as playful as before, and he hates giving Lan Xichen hopes based on an experimental spell. But a long time ago, he was able to give his golden core to his shidi based on a study that was nothing but a theory. Wei Wuxian glances at Jiang Cheng and meets his eyes as though they were both thinking the same. “Zewu-jun, you would kindle his soul to remember, and if you two find each other in another life, you will remember him too.”

“And if we never find each other...” Lan Xichen swallows a lump in his throat, trying to hide the obvious turmoil that shakes him from the inside out. “... dage will live a normal life?” Wei Wuxian nods.

“But dage’s soul will be free and he will be able to reincarnate,” Nie Huaisang says with teary eyes. “Xichen-ge, I knew my brother, and he would have never wanted to forget you.”

“The most likely scenario is that you two won’t ever meet again, but it’s worth a try,” Wei Wuxian turns about and meets his husband’s glass-like eyes, unable to help the smile that conquers his lips and the warmth that fills his heart. He once waited for him for thirteen years, holding onto a thread of hope. “I can’t guarantee this will work.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen says with a thread of voice. “I will consider it.”

“We’ll travel to Qinghe tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng says. “My People have arranged the area and cleaned it from corpses and ghosts in preparation. They are not aware of our intentions but they expect us and will aid in securing the perimeter.”

“There’s also a maze array to prevent uninvited guests,” Nie Huaisang adds.

“You’ve thought of everything,” Wei Wuxian scoffs.

“I am betting all I have to retrieve my brother’s soul.” 

The atmosphere in the parlor has turned gloomy. Lan Wangji seems to want to scold Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen is absent-minded from the conversation, and Jiang Cheng has scooted closer to Nie Huaisang and looks weary and tired. Nobody wants to keep talking tonight. 

“Let’s retire and rest for tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng says. 

“If we succeed, we could always perform a body offering ceremony for dage.” The whole table shoots him an icy glare before Nie Huaisang covers his smile with his fan and breaks into a laugh. Jiang Cheng chides him pinching his side discretely, and Wei Wuxian joins him with a hearty laugh. Even Lan Xichen shakes his head and stands, unable to chastise Nie Huaisang’s wry humor.

“I will retire now,” Lan Xichen says as politely as he can.

He leaves the main building in a daze, grateful when the nightly breeze slaps his face and puts his feet on the ground. Everything is too much, his heart is galloping against his better judgment. He wants him back, he wants him safe, but is he betting too much on one little glimpse of hope? On the outside, Lan Xichen seems like an immortal from the heavens that decided to walk the earth to admire the starry sky of Yunmeng’s pier, but on the inside, he’s fighting to hold back confused tears of joy and hope when they haven’t even opened the coffin yet.

“Xiongzhang.” Lan Xichen flinches ever so slightly, swiveling about to find his brother and Wei Wuxian behind him.

“Zewu-jun, I apologize for dropping that on you without a warning. I know how much Chifeng-zun means to you.”

“Do it,” Lan Xichen says. “If dage and I are lucky enough to meet in this life or the next, yes, I want to remember him and he would want to remember me too.” A sad smile stretches his lips, taking them aback at how in these moments of renewed grief, Lan Xichen can look at the bright side of things. “We could have a real chance, and that’s worth a try.”

Wei Wuxian nods, taking a blank talisman out of his sleeve. “I will need your blood and your spiritual energy imbued in this.” He lifts it before his eyes, the thin yellow paper between his two fingers. Lan Wangji flicks his eyes between his brother, face ashen by the words he just heard and Wei Wuxian, his eyes sparkling in red.

Lan Xichen swallows up thickly and grabs Shuoyue by the sheath. “This resembles awfully of demonic cultivation,” he says.

“It is, with the best of means and no harm to others,” Wei Wuxian promises.

His thumb pushes the guard of the sword upward, revealing an inch of moonlight once the blade is in the open. The clear sound of it fills their ears when Lan Xichen glides his thumb over the silvered blade, staining the edge in a ruby red, a droplet trickling down Shuoyue, another sliding down the curve of his finger.

A heap of clouds covers the round moon and a gust of wind extinguishes the torches, leaving them in the shadows of the world in the darkest hours. Memories of them together invade Lan Xichen’s mind as he doubts himself one last time, his finger hovering over the yellowish talisman that seems to glow in red and blue and exudes spiritual energy.

Their first kiss, the taste of his lips after a sip of wine, the sound of his voice raising low and raspy into his ear before even the sun dares to; the tightness of his embrace and the softness of his caresses, the scent of his sweat, the honeyed color of his eyes under the bright sun, and the looming darkness they sport under the light of a candle. The heat of battle, the refreshing coldness of the cold spring, tears mingled with a rainy night and a wet kiss that merges them into one. Never again, but maybe… one small chance.

A thick droplet of scarlet blood splashes and soaks the talisman, and the moon comes out to wash them with its silver shine again. Lan Wangji lights the torches with a wave of his hand, and Wei Wuxian murmurs a long-forgotten poem his ears barely register before he keeps it in his sleeve. “When the time comes, you’ll tell me if you still want this or not.”

Lan Xichen nods, realizing his cheeks feel cold and wet.

And his heart empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (~￣³￣)~  
> The brothers bonding break my heart (つ﹏<)･ﾟ｡  
> These were originally two separate chapters because I thought there was a lot of dialogue, but I think it reads better as one, like "the calm before the storm". Anyhow, I hope you liked it, my heart aches for NieLan and we still have a long way to go...
> 
> See y'all on Friday! ~ヾ(＾∇＾) (and it's a big one) 
> 
> ε=ε=ε=ε=ε” “(/*’-‘*)/


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (੭ ˃̣̣̥ ㅂ˂̣̣̥)੭ु

Knowing he wouldn’t sleep no matter what, Nie Huaisang fought against his restless night seeking consolation in the arms of his lover. The fear of more nightmares kept him awake. He dreaded to foresee today’s outcome and change their fate. Jiang Cheng indulged him until he rendered him senseless and they both shared a few hours of pleasant slumber until the sun was high in the sky and the hour to leave Lotus Pier closed in.

In front of the mirror, Nie Huaisang ties a cream bow to his half up-do as he does every morning. He had planned his revenge for so many years. Looking for his brother, hiding from Jin Guanyao, pretending to be useless while using every resource at his reach to overcome the mastermind pretender that had everyone under his spell. He beat Jin Guangyao in the end. The Chief Cultivator made his bed, but he, Nie Huaisang, made sure he died on it. A sly smile stretches his lips. This is not about revenge anymore but about justice; about granting Nie Mingjue the peace he deserves in the afterlife, and perhaps... His hazel eyes meet Jiang Cheng’s in his reflection, and Nie Huaisang motions before him, fixing distractedly the lapels of his purple jianxiu robe.

“What were you scheming back there?” Jiang Cheng asks, his hands winding around his waist and lifting him on his tiptoes.

“Dwelling on the past,” Nie Huaisang answers, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. If Nie Mingjue gets his memories back, he could have his brother back, he could hug him again, would Nie Mingjue scold him? The thought makes him sigh. “Then I remember I don’t have to do that anymore.”

“Nor do I.” Jiang Cheng prevents Nie Huaisang from escaping his embrace.

“Cheng-xiong, I already gave you a kiss,” he pouts. “And more than I’d dare to say out loud,” he says in a sultry whisper, his breath puffing on Jiang Cheng’s lips.

“Huaisang.” Jiang Cheng stares at his delicate beauty, and how his silky hair drapes down his back, how the blush spreading on his cheeks becomes more obvious under his shameless ogling. He never noticed how the colors of his sect enhance the hazel green of his eyes, or how his lips part when he holds him like this as if he were just waiting for him to bite his mouth. A night measuring his skin in kisses hasn’t quenched his desire for him, he would spend a lifetime learning all his moles by heart, pleasing all his whims, sharing him only with tumbled sheets. Just them, drowning in the love that had been snatched from their lives on behalf of others. “Marry me.”

The playful smile on Nie Huaisang’s lips vanishes. “You can’t ask me that now,” he says, his body trembling, his hands clutching the lapels that he was carefully straightening moments ago. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be.” Jiang Cheng cups his face, aware that last night he was the only thing between Nie Huaisang and madness. They’re about to leave to Qinghe and they still can’t imagine what they’ll find once they open the coffin.

“I can’t answer that now.” The glimpse of a smile makes Jiang Cheng’s heart leap. “In case tonight I die of a fright or something worse.”

“No one will rip you apart from me, I promise.” Unannounced tears pour from Nie Huaisang’s bleary eyes. “Marry me. Say yes.” Nie Huaisang sobs and stands on his tiptoes to kiss this madman. As if he could allow himself to expect that kind of happiness from an ungiving life. He shuts him up, so he can’t say those gentle words he would beg to hear again and again, and also fears from the depths of his shattered heart. You can only lose what you have, but he can do nothing when his mind repeats like a mantra: _yes, yes, yes, yes…_ “Marry me, Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng mumbles against his mouth.

Nie Huaisang shakes his head, closing his eyes shut to avert his gaze. “I’ll answer you tonight.”

“Playing hard to get when all I want is you under a red veil?” Jiang Cheng kisses his forehead and loosens his embrace. “Now it looks like we fought and I made you cry.” He wipes the salty tears with his thumbs, cradling a reddened face into his hands.

“You did make me cry, Cheng-xiong,” he quips.

“Everything will be fine.”

At a loss for words, Nie Huaisang believes him.

A pair of horse-drawn carriages cover most of the travel from Yunmeng to Qinghe. One of them carries Baxia, suppressed in a chest under the influence of many talismans that, before they reach the border, turn to ashes and need to be replaced. According to Nie Huaisang, Baxia suspects, but Jiang Cheng dismisses his worries and guards the chest with distrusting eyes and a hand grasping Sandu’s hilt.

The coffin sealing ceremony took place almost a year ago. The only ones absent were Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. Every single sect leader, from low to high cultivation sects, wanted to witness the horror and gossip about the Guanyin Temple incident as if it was a tale to tell their children at night to scare them. By then, Jin Guangyao had been demonized and condemned publicly for his deeds and everybody pitied Chifeng-zun’s fate. Nie Huaisang took care of everything and arranged the ritual like a funeral out of respect for his brother.

Everybody expected that it would be a mess, that he would neglect an important detail and make a fool of himself in front of the cultivation world, but to everyone’s surprise, his demeanor was impeccable and the ceremony a flawless success as if Lan Qiren himself had organized it. Everyone praised him, but Nie Huaisang was so caught up with his own grief, his long-awaited victory meant nothing. Especially when he locked eyes with Lan Xichen and saw himself reflected on them. At least there were two people there who genuinely cared about his big brother.

Bayingzhen mountain, within the domains of the Unclean Realm, was chosen as a burial ground to contain and seal the coffin for a hundred years before anyone would dare to pry inside again and check the status of both souls. Truth is, everyone hoped they would consume each other and leave nothing behind. The location was close enough to the Qinghe Nie Sect domains that no other sect would meddle with his decision because no one wanted to dirty their hands. The Lanling Jin Sect, currently under Jiang Cheng’s care, didn’t claim Jin Guangyao’s remains; they had enough with the horde of fleeing cultivators burning their uniforms of Sparks Admist Snow as they left the place and spat on what once they had lauded. Some stayed, and those have an arduous task at hand.

How quickly and unexpectedly things changed in a few days. A seemingly innocent letter, the return of the Yiling Patriarch, and the timely revelation about Jin Guangyao’s past and the cultivation world crumbled. Nevertheless, Jiang Cheng drains himself protecting Jin Ling’s future. Because that’s what Jiang Yanli would’ve wanted, what Jin Zixuan would’ve wanted too. If they had been alive none of this would’ve happened, but Jin Guangyao played his cards all too well for everyone to piece it together in time. Everyone but Nie Huaisang.

It still amazes him how he was able to take down one menace after the other, overcoming what he considered mere hurdles. Wen Ruohan, Nie Mingjue, Jin Zixuan, Jin Zixun, Mo Xuanyu, Jin Guangshan, his own wife and sister, Qin Su, his son. But only one mattered to Nie Huaisang. Madness drove Jin Guangyao’s heart and until the very last moment, he claimed it had to be done, that his actions were unavoidable. His heart thumps at the mere thought of so much hatred toward his kin, toward his rightful, stubborn big brother. How he wished to be the victim of one of his bear hugs again! Nie Huaisang discreetly wipes a tear from his cheek before Jiang Cheng notices.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Nie Huaisang smiles and nods.

At the feet of Bayingzhen mountain, the carriages stop. Lan Xichen steps out followed by Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, and sees Nie Huaisang craning his head out the door sash before Jiang Cheng gets off the vehicle and helps him out.

“We’ll have to continue on foot,” Jiang Cheng informs.

Lan Wangji casts an emotionless glance at the slope ahead and then at his brother’s sad expression. He would love to see him smile again. When they were children, he was the quiet one, and his expressionless face and glass-like eyes wouldn’t awake the sympathy of others. But Lan Xichen always had a smile for him, kind words, good advice. He is proud to be his brother, and even though he has tried to convince himself he does this because is the right thing to do, he does it for Lan Xichen, so he has a chance at happiness or the relief of closure. “He’ll be fine, Lan er gege,” Wei Wuxian whispers.

A gloomy silence accompanies the party that a night ago had so much to discuss. There’s nothing left to say until they arrive. Four cultivators from the Qinghe Nie Sect carry the chest in an improvised palanquin. Do they know they carry a spiritual weapon of tremendous power? Lan Xichen doubts they do. He tried to meditate upon waking up this morning, but his head is still heady and numb, and the dry cold of the mountainous Qinghe isn’t helping.

At the hillside of the mountain, the steep slope dies in a beautiful entrance in green and white. A thicket of snowy white iris encases the bottom of a rocky stair that stretches out of sight and will guide them to the peak. His nightmares had nothing to do with such a beautiful entrance that definitely wasn’t there the day of the sealing ceremony. Lan Xichen nestles an iris tenderly in his palm, its pristine beauty mingling with his jade skin. The long, narrow leaves of the showy flower tickle his fingers.

“Nothing grows up there,” Nie Huaisang says by his side. “But I made sure those took root down here.” Lan Xichen nods, wondering that Nie Mingjue wouldn’t care about the flowers growing up near his tomb because he never really cared for such frivolities. But he appreciates Nie Huaisang’s attention to detail as he takes the first step of many to climb.

The built-in steps become steeper as they climb them, the height blurring the line of the earth and the heavens in an almost ethereal dream. They rise above the treetops of the tall forest crowding the lower half of the mountain, enveloped by a mist of clouds as they enter the inhospitable peak. The small path is carved on the side of the rock and that’s where the party climbs, their breaths far from laborious except for the poor four cultivators carrying the heavy chest. The resentfulness oozing out of it meddles with their strength without them noticing. They are breaking a sweat, wheezing and feeling their legs wobbly by the effort while the other high-level cultivators take step after step needing no extra breath.

Seeing their struggle, Lan Wangji grabs the two handles of the palanquin on the rear while the other four cultivators take turns at the front. Wei Wuxian suppresses a laugh. “You could carry me too, Hanguang-jun.” His voice echoes in the air and gets lost in the drifting clouds. No one grants more than a sidelong glance and a half-smile to his words.

Two hours after they left the carriages, Lan Xichen climbs the last step that leads to an open-air esplanade also carved onto the mountain. The place churns his stomach, not because there’s nothing there but rocks and arid ground, but because the love of his life is so close and so far at the same time. Nie Huaisang instructs the cultivators to take down the thick wall of squared stones covering the entrance to a cave guarded by two beast statues.

Lan Wangji stands by his side. “Wei Ying will start the array now.” In order to contain the resentfulness of the coffin, Wei Wuxian suggested using a magic array similar to the one in the cave of Luanzang Hill, but instead of keeping the walking corpses outside, it will hold whatever is inside the coffin within its range. At least for a decent amount of time.

“Extra precautions are in order,” Lan Xichen answers, but he’s absent-minded, staring listlessly at the working men taking the wall down stone by stone. His gaze flicks for the chest containing Baxia and the ashy talismans dissolving in the breeze. “They are starving.”

“Hm,” Lan Wangji agrees.

Inside the depths of the cave rests the sturdy, stone coffin that months ago he witnessed disappearing in the darkness as the sealing ceremony concluded. As they widen the entrance, smoke billows out from the shadows in a mixture of soil and resentful energy. The best way to store the sealed coffin underground was inside a cave that ventured to the very heart of the mountain. Gravediggers can raid tombs and steal burial goods, but they know better than to enter a mountain-grave like this.

Two enormous stone beasts made of copper with eyes of green jade guard the entrance and would alert the guarding the perimeter of any unexpected intrusion. The head is in the shape of a beast similar to the Nie Sect’s motif. A pair of gold-plated horns protrude from their heads and shine in the last rays of sun of the day. They are able to exorcism and can absorb and suppress a certain amount of resentful energy to maintain the balance within the range of the tomb.

The statues are expensive spiritual trinkets the Qinghe Nie Sect made and paid for even though they use the jade mechanism similar to the token of passage from the Cloud Recesses. They are decently crafted, and just as nothing grows in the area, they are free from moss or grass hence preserved beautifully in the middle of this barren ground. Wei Wuxian crouches in an area nearby, tracing the array in the fine gravel that’s left over the rock. He presses his palm on the ground and the intricate design glares in a bright red, cracking the solid ground underneath in its design.

Once the last stone is in the ground, the four men followed by Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang enter the cave while the rest wait outside. Lan Xichen realizes at what cost is everyone helping Nie Mingjue and his heart aches for him. His brother has to witness his husband practice demonic cultivation again at the cost of his heart and soul, Jiang Cheng has moved heaven and earth to gather everyone here, and Nie Huaisang has to undo what he did mere months ago to free his brother’s soul. What is he offering but his suffering? He has already lost; his heart is empty since the day Nie Mingjue died and the last few months have been a succession of nightmares and regrets. Lan Xichen has nothing to lose unless they liberate his soul. One last red string of hope that will join him to his soulmate in the afterlife.

When the last ray of sun tinges the cloudy sky in orange and pink, the men come out of the cave carrying a wooden casket. As written in the old scriptures, to suppress this kind of resentful energy there had to be a layer of stone, a layer of iron, and one last layer of wood. The faces of the cultivators are drained from energy and blood. “Place it in the center of the array,” Nie Huaisang commands, and the men hurry with all the strength they can muster; each man in a corner of the coffin.

A gust of dust lifts when they drop it as they’ve been told and hurry outside the array while Wei Wuxian makes the last inspections. “Will this contain what’s inside?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“I’ve done my best.”

“Then it will,” Lan Wangji affirms.

Darkness creeps upon them as the night begins to settle, the light decreasing fastest than their eyes get used to the lack of light. Wei Wuxian flinches when his fingertips follow the intricate design carved on the lid of the casket. He feels what’s inside, an inhuman amount of resentful energy that seems to have multiplied tenfold these past months. It doesn’t look good, but he refrains from speaking his mind. “This is good suppressing work,” he says with a furrow between his eyebrows and a disturbing smile on his lips. “No wonder barely any resentfulness escapes the casket, the artist has a great knowledge of suppression arrays and the woodwork is of the finest quality too.”

“Thank you,” Nie Huaisang quips, spreading his fan to cover his not-so-modest smile.

“S-sect Leader Nie, do you need us?” The four cultivators can barely stand on their feet and they don’t want to witness the opening ritual.

“Set the torches on fire before you leave,” Nie Huaisang says. “Stay with the patrols in the safe perimeter.”

“Yes, Sect Leader Nie.” The sunlight is gone, but the residual luminescence of the day offers a few minutes of comfort before the night takes over. The sky is a mixture of orange and dark blue and the first stars glitter in the sky. Five torches around the perimeter will be the only source of light when the sun sets. The whole party seems to wait impatiently for the events to unfold so everything’s over. 

Jiang Cheng accompanies the men to the vertiginous stair. “No one is to come up here until dawn.” He glances back at Nie Huaisang. “If we are not back by then, don’t climb the mountain without reinforcements. Whatever haunts us here won’t escape the peak.” They give him a succession of jerky nods and gather strength to guide them on their way down.

As Jiang Cheng comes back to where Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang gather around a torch, he overhears the end of the conversation. “Someone needs to wield Baxia,” Nie Huaisang says, his fan clutched in one of his hands, his knuckles white, the greenish tassel trembling slightly.

“Not you,” Jiang Cheng says.

“I’ll do it.” Lan Xichen takes a step forward.

“Thank you, Xichen-ge.” He bows his head, but then his gaze lands on the closed chest beside him. “I’m not strong enough, Baxia wouldn’t allow it.” Fearful of Nie Huaisang reaching for the saber, Jiang Cheng opens the chest and takes Baxia out. The saber is wrapped in the now ragged and flaxen fabric; it’s heavy as if he was carrying a heavy rock, and his eyebrows knit as he stands before Lan Xichen offering the dreaded saber with both arms.

Grasping Baxia with one hand, Lan Xichen peels off the yellowish blanket that flutters and hovers in a gust of wind before it lands on the ground. “I’ve fought you before,” Lan Xichen says. “I’ll be on the other end now.” Nie Mingjue’s saber is thicker and longer than any conventional sword, and Lan Xichen has to use all his strength to simply hold it. Low-level cultivators wouldn’t be able to lift it or unsheathe the blade, even Lan Xichen struggles and has to send a flow of spiritual energy to curb the resentfulness already invading his body. He misses the light weighted Shuoyue and its elegant finesse. How did Nie Mingjue bear this burden all the time? Locking eyes with Nie Huaisang, Lan Xichen grasps the hilt with white-knuckle force and unsheathes the saber in a long, smooth movement.

The raspy sound of a blade that hasn’t been polished for years pierce their ears. It resembles the screech of a wild animal that hisses as a warning. A shriek that echoes in the night. He tosses the sheath inside the chest and wields the saber with both hands. The last time, a mere brush of his fingers on the blade awoke the saber spirit, but now they’re wide awake. When Lan Xichen fixes his gaze in the smoky reflection of the blade, he doesn’t find his eyes but Baxia’s.

_Feed us._

With a groan and his eyes wrinkled shut, Lan Xichen digs a knee on the merciless ground. The tip of the sword pierces through dirt and stone, his hands clutching the hilt and refusing to let go even though his body stiffens as if a lightning bolt had pierced him in the spot. The voice of Nie Huaisang dies in a muffled echo along with Lan Wangji’s. And then he’s not there anymore but swathed by the shadows of the tall trees of a familiar forest.

“Dage,” Lan Xichen moans, trying to escape the pair of muscled arms wrapped tightly around him and pushing him onward. Nie Mingjue’s lips paint his neck in impossible-to-hide watercolor marks as he kisses and nibbles his way up to his earlobe. Lan Xichen feels his legs turn to jelly as he meshes against him.

“I will hunt every creature in Phoenix Mountain for you,” Nie Mingjue promises, wet lips trapping his earlobe and tugging gently.

“No need,” Lan Xichen gasps, clutching at the collars of his upper garments. “Don’t make trouble for A-Yao.” Nie Mingjue grunts and clenches his teeth around a mouthful of his neck, turning his plea into a luscious whine.

“Only half the mountain then,” he jests before busying himself with Lan Xichen’s slender neck. He moves the hair away with his nose, his hands sliding down his body and following the sinuous arch of his spine and the suggestive curve of his backside even over so many layers or garments.

“Do you feel the need to compensate me because you didn’t give me a flower?” Lan Xichen mumbles, dreading they will be discovered at any moment. Phoenix Mountain is crowded by cultivators looking for prey and glory while they frisk against a tree more worried about how to peel each other’s clothes than do any actual hunting.

“You had a shower of flowers over you.” Nie Mingjue fondles him so shamelessly he notes the red come up his cheeks. He does it unabashed, meeting his dark eyes with a pair of brown wells of his own, fearless of being discovered. “I’d rather bathe you in kisses.” The corner of his mouth pulls upward in a sly smile, and Lan Xichen’s stomach curls nice and warm.

“You mean bites.”

“Those too,” Nie Mingjue whispers in an undeniably sexy voice. “But I’ll throw a hundred flowers in our bed tonight if it pleases you, Lan Huan…” Lan Xichen laughs, his hands roving his never-ending chest until he bumps with his sash “... and fuck you over them.”

“Will you have time to pick up flowers while hunting prey?” Lan Xichen teases. “And more importantly, will you have the energy to perform as promised?”

“I’ll wipe this mountain of flowers too if I have to…” His mouth finds Lan Xichen’s and silences the desperate gasp coming out of his lips. “Regarding my performance…” Lan Xichen tugs at his sash, his right hand sneaking inside his garments and wrapping around him, his left hand finding Baxia’s hilt. He opens his mouth, granting Nie Mingjue the pleasures he hankers for. But then everything’s gone, and his heart aches because he realizes it’s just a sweet memory of the past unleashed by the saber.

“Sect Leader Lan?”

“Xiongzhan?” Lan Wangji’s hand hover over his shoulder, and with that last call, Lan Xichen opens his eyes and the sight of barren ground welcomes him again to the present.

“I’m fine,” he lies. Lan Xichen hoists himself up using Baxia, ignoring the restless beating of his heart or the resentful energy making his arm tremble under its power.

“You need to be inside the array,” Wei Wuxian says, Chenqing already in his hand. Lan Wangji stands beside his brother, cradling his guqin with one arm, Bichen ready to answer to his commands in case he needs it. Jiang Cheng steps inside, bracing himself on the lid of the coffin and shooting Wei Wuxian an anxious glance. “Do it.”

In a show of strength, Jiang Cheng lifts the heavy lid on his own and slides it aside. His eyes widen momentarily, but a column of dark energy shoots toward the sky and he covers his face with an arm. It lasts only one second, and Jiang Cheng walks backward until he feels Nie Huaisang pressing a hand between his shoulder blades. Chenqing’s shrilling tunefulness fills the place and disperses the spectral residue of the resentful energy that blasted out a moment ago.

A purple light changes the illumination of the atmosphere and joins to the trembling torches when Jiang Cheng summons Zidian with his left and wields Sandu with his right. Nie Huaisang hides behind him, still clutching his hand fan.

As the melody entwines with the noises of the night, Wei Wuxian’s eyes flare in red and a broad shadow rises from the coffin in a terrifying scene. Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse, under his control, stands and steps out of the casket in slow, sloppy movements. Lan Xichen feels his blood turn to ice as he recognizes him. The man he held in his arms at night, the lover who taught him what life was after an upbringing of self-restraint and obedience. He’s the one, the only one he ever loved, and the only one he’ll ever love, settled under his skin truer than the spiritual energy running through his meridians. “Mingjue-xiong,” he mumbles, chastising himself for the weakness and reminding himself the one in front of him is not Nie Mingjue anymore.

The fierce corpse inches his way toward Lan Xichen. He points Baxia at him, a visible, sinister string of smoke joining the saber and Nie Mingjue’s corpse. “Is it working?” Nie Huaisang says behind the safety of Jiang Cheng’s tall figure. Lan Xichen’s hands hurt as he wields the saber and fights against a tremendous strength trying to pull it down as if gravity was working against him.

The sight of those soulless eyes breaks his heart again; white, lackluster, the eyes of someone long dead with the face of someone forever loved. As Nie Mingjue gets closer, Lan Wangji’s hand hover over the guqin strings with intentions of sending a wave of spiritual energy his way.

“Wait!” Lan Xichen frowns. “Baxia is absorbing resentful energy.” He knows because it hurts. The saber is getting heavier and heavier, a dark mist already twirling around the blade as if it were a whirlwind swallowing everything evil at its reach; everything including his weary arms.

Wei Wuxian’s melody suddenly stops, and Nie Mingjue’s eyes turn a deep black, his pupils flexing imperceptible and fixing on Lan Xichen’s bleary eyes. His mouth opens, but only a loud growl comes out. “Dage?” Lan Xichen asks, the pointy end of Baxia piercing an inch in Nie Mingjue’s chest when he takes another step forward. He feels the yielding of the dead flesh and trembles. Ashen, long fingers lift and tenderly caress his cheek, wiping away an importunate tear that he sheds at seeing his soul trapped behind his eyes.

Nie Huaisang presses his face between Jiang Cheng’s shoulder blades, muffling the subtle cry that comes out of his lungs not sure if he should feel fear or sorrow. When he gathers enough courage, he peeks at the scene again, and Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse turns his head around and meets his eyes. “Dage!” There is no emotion cast back at him, his darkened eyes robbed of the spark of life. Before he realizes, tears well in his eyes for his long lost brother, but then they stop and he grits his teeth. “Not you!” Nie Huaisang’s voice breaks in a shout.

As if everyone had forgotten about him, Jin Guangyao’s fierce corpse rises quick as a snake from inside the coffin, leaping behind Nie Mingjue. His state when he died was a mess, his neck squeezed half its size by Nie Mingjue’s hands, an arm severed that apparently has found its way back to his corpse, and another arm pitch black by the poison. His fierce corpse oozes vengeful energy, but his blood-stained Sparks Amidst Snow uniform clashes with the image that they had of him in life. Jin Guangyao, always so tidy and pristine so everyone would ignore the fact he was the son of a prostitute. Thatched hair, a wicked grimace frozen in his face, and a smeared red dot on his grey forehead paint the worst possible image of him ever. A terrifying one.

Jin Guangyao clings to Nie Mingjue from behind, gnawing his teeth on his shoulder, his long nails grazing the dead skin on his chest and opening wounds that leak a trail of black blood. “Get away from him!” Nie Huaisang waves his opened fan and sends a blast of spiritual energy that slaps Jin Guangyao’s face and turns it at an awkward angle. A low growl fills their ears with their worst nightmares. With a quick movement of his arm, Jiang Cheng whips Jin Guangyao’s arm, the brightness around Zidian revealing an almost invisible chord tangled in his fingertips.

“Careful!” Jiang Cheng warns, retracting Zidian while shielding Nie Huaisang behind him.

Lan Xichen witnesses in a fit of rage how Jin Guangyao wraps the chord around Nie Mingjue’s already stitched neck and tugs at both ends, creating yet another black line in his body. It’s like reliving his nightmare in the flesh. “Move!” he shouts at Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse at the same time he tries to no avail to pull Baxia out of his chest so he can use it against Jin Guangyao. But he cannot. Nie Mingjue grips Baxia by the blade, a thick, black liquid trickling down the edge and pooling between them.

Only then Lan Xichen notices Wei Wuxian is crouching in the ground, mumbling something unintelligible while the array glows in red. “They won’t escape,” Lan Wangji says, the strings resonating once. Long, clear-as-water notes cleanse a wave of resentfulness, but a dreadful shrilling shout leaves Jin Guangyao’s deadly throat as he tries to decapitate Nie Mingjue even if the chord has reached the bones of his fingers and blood drips down his arms.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen begs, but Nie Mingjue takes a step forward at the same time he impales himself with Baxia. The dark energy surrounding them weakens Lan Xichen, exposed tenfold as he holds the saber forcefully even though it’s like holding onto a burning rod. With one last groan of fury and sorrow, and his cheeks wet, Lan Xichen releases Baxia and Nie Mingjue pushes the blade until the hilt is the only part protruding from his body. Jin Guangyao lets out another undeadly scream as Baxia pierces through him too. “Dage!”

Those two dark vortexes of death glance at him one last time. Nie Mingjue grasps Baxia’s hilt and pulls it out in such graceful movement anyone witnessing would say he’s alive. He swivels about and thrusts his saber again through Jin Guangyao’s heart as if that could kill him. Jin Guanyao seems to have a mocking grin, unaffected by the saber splitting his chest and opening an old wound, but then his sly smile disappears as deep, red blood cascades down his mouth, his body drying up in a whirl of resentfulness which core seems to belong to Baxia. 

“Now!” Wei Wuxian says. “Get him back into the coffin!”

Jiang Cheng steps into the array, ready to seal the lid of the coffin, but Nie Huaisang’s strangled shout stops his heart at a halt. Nie Mingjue’s corpse dismantles, mere parts of an old, rotten body piled up one over the other in front of Jin Guangyao. No one holds Baxia anymore except Jin Guangyao who tries uselessly to grasp the hilt to pull it out of his torso. The only thing piecing Nie Mingjue together was the resentful energy that Baxia is consuming as the starved spirit they are. Lan Wangji’s guqin fills the night again with an eerie calmness, but with the last wave of his hand, all seven strings harmonize a life-defying blast that sends Jin Guangyao into the air and inside the opened casket with Baxia deeply struck through his undead corpse.

“Close it!” Nie Huaisang yells. Jiang Cheng groans, lifting the heavy lid himself and sealing the menace inside with a loud thump.

Right after, a disturbing silence envelopes them, and he walks backward, Nie Huaisang hugging him from behind as soon as he’s out of the array. A ghostly fog grows inhumanly tall, ignited by the residual dark energy in the area, but the notes of Wangji and Chenqing playing a duet disperse it. “Where is he?” Lan Xichen mumbles, his eyes still fixed in the horrid bundle of corpse parts at his feet. “This can’t be all that’s left of you.”

Lan Xichen kneels before them, his body aching. As the single proof of what has gone through his body, he coughs a mouthful of blood on the ground and braces himself in time to see the pieced corpse turn to ashes and dust mingling with the dirt of the stone. It brings tears to his eyes, how after everything they’ve done, he has failed. Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse is utterly destroyed and his soul has shattered and dispersed with it.

“Where is his soul?” Nie Huaisang asks, biting back a sob. Wei Wuxian watches the scene with his eyebrows tightly knit. In a fit of sorrow, Nie Huaisang clashes against Jiang Cheng’s chest and drowns in tears.

Lan Xichen dirties his hands when he wrings the gravel in anger. Large, salty droplets fall from his eyes without his consent, but he allows himself one last moment of grief, blinking, his lashes wet, his vision blurry. But not as blurry as not to notice the ghostly hand that stretches in front of him. Lan Xichen whips his head up and finds the ethereal shape of his soul materializing right before his eyes. Nie Mingjue glances back at him with a smile on his lips his hand uselessly trying to hoist him up. “Dage…” Standing before him, he still needs to look slightly upward to find the familiarity of his eyes and the comfort of his face. Nie Huaisang seeks for Jiang Cheng’s hand and entwines their fingers together, looking at his big brother’s soul as a smile allows him to taste his own tears.

“Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian calls. “The talisman?”

“What if he doesn’t want to remember?” Without taking his eyes off of him, Lan Xichen fears his desire to preserve his memory entangled to his soul for all eternity could doom him to a life in waiting if they never meet. But it’s still a chance. His last chance. Theirs.

“Have you ever wanted to forget him?” Wei Wuxian asks with the talisman he prepared a night ago ready in his hand. One word from him will be enough.

“Wouldn’t you want to remember him?” Nie Huaisang locks eyes with Lan Xichen and nods.

Nie Mingjue cups his face in a feather-like caress that seems like a summer breeze on his skin. His love always felt warm, fulfilling, and his heart swells. He leans forward, closing his eyes to imagine their lips will press into a kiss that never happens. “Find me,” he whispers. To everyone witnessing the scene, Nie Mingjue’s ethereal soul presses his forehead against Lan Xichen, cupping his face and trying to wipe the tears that still pour from his closed eyes. But they belong to different worlds now and they just melt in a kiss not meant to happen.

Wei Wuxian murmurs an enchantment into the talisman trapped between his two fingers, then he blows steadily until it crumbles and disperses like ashes in a fire, traveling to Nie Mingjue’s soul. When Lan Xichen opens his eyes, those gentle eyes are not looking at him anymore, there’s only a myriad of particles in red and blue dispersing into the night as fireflies heading to the starry sky. Where his soul belongs now. One small ash melts in his bottom lip, and the joy of liberating his soul turns to ashes in his mouth when he realizes he’s ever farther away now.

His fingers reach for his lips because the kiss that hasn’t happened has left them tingling as if he had been kissing him for hours. “Where has he gone?”

“I wish I could answer that question, Zewu-jun.” Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji look up at the sky while holding hands. Even Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng melt in a too intimate embrace while they both watch the strange mixture of a soul leaving this world in peace and the bitter taste of new grief.

Having cried his heart out, Lan Xichen can only smile, a burden lifting off his shoulders, his heart unshackling after so many years constricted by grief and pain. Nobody moves until the last light vanishes from their sight and reality strikes them with a coffin they still need to take care of.

“Come on, er gege,” Wei Wuxian says. “Let’s put this where it belongs.”

“I’ll help,” Jiang Cheng says, pressing a kiss on Nie Huaisang’s forehead.

Exhausted as they are, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji guard the coffin supervised by Nie Huaisang and then seal the entrance of the cave so Baxia and Jin Guangyao can spend eternity fighting each other. Somehow Nie Huaisang feels the saber spirit is pleased, hunting his most desired prey, one that had been denied from him in many occasions in the past.

The walk down the mountain is even more silent than the way up, but this is the first night Lan Xichen looks up at the night sky and finds the stars brighter than ever. He got to see Nie Mingjue smiling one last time in this life and hopes to find him in the next. Halfway down, Liebing tells a melancholic melody that shrinks everyone’s hearts and accompanies them step after step. No more suffering for a chained soul, just a sad melody that steals a tear from the righteous Hanguang-jun and a river from the stern Jiang Cheng.

“Find me,” Lan Xichen mumbles again when the melody ends and the iris seem to shine in dew drops under the silver shine of the moonlight.

A couple stands under the threshold of flowers for a moment. Nie Huaisang tugs at Jiang Cheng’s sleeve as he stands on his tiptoes and presses their lips together, tasting the salty tears that Jiang Cheng has shed.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (*＾▽＾)／
> 
> This was one of the first chapters I planned for this fic, so I'm really happy I can share it now (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ The next one is also important and sets the pace for the rest of the story. I really hope you enjoy it but... see y'all next Tuesday! (〃￣ω￣〃)ゞ


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20 years later

The coldness after a wet caress in the shell of his ear awakens Lan Xichen from the peaceful slumber he was submerged into. Another lick of that sinful tongue in the sensitive skin at the back of his neck reminds him who he shares his bed with. “Dage,” he mumbles, refusing to open his eyes at the increasing light filling up the room. “What time is it?”

“Almost five,” Nie Mingjue whispers raspy and sweet as ripe fruit. His arms tighten around him, his neck molding his bicep, their naked bodies gliding skin against skin.

Lan Xichen’s breath catches up in his lungs when Nie Mingjue swivels his hips forward, finding his way between his thighs with a hot searing length. He would believe after a night of mutual indulgence he’d be sated and rested. But he knows better than to underestimate Nie Mingjue’s stamina. “You’re hard,” he purrs, gladly trapping his cock in the welcoming heat of his inner thighs. A throaty chuckle resounds from the back of his throat, his lips busied with his neck, his hands a pair of greedy wildlings of his own fondling wherever they please. He surrenders, every caress is an act of worship he has learned not to fight this early in the morning or he’ll never get out of bed.

Tugging at the forehead ribbon tangled in Nie Mingjue’s wrist, he guides his hand lower down his body to find his own hard cock. “Not enough,” he whispers. His lover takes him in a loose, gentle fist, awakening his body while his mouth nibbles at his shoulder.

Mornings trapped in his arms are always tender-hearted and weary as if they could spend the day between tumbled sheets ignoring their responsibilities. “Hand me the oil.” Opening a slit his eyes, Lan Xichen stretches his hand and finds an almost finished vial. He pours it in his hand, and while those slicked fingers tease his rim, he steals a morning kiss from those sweet, damp, lips.

“The sun is too high up,” Lan Xichen mumbles, realizing the windows are closed and yet the light seeps through the decorations carved in the wood. Nie Mingjue shushes him, anchoring his leg over his hip while he coats his length in the remnants of oil and slides home in a seamless glide. Lan Xichen forgets what he was going to say and moans from the back of his throat.

Nie Mingjue digs his fingertips in his inner thigh, keeping him in place while he thrusts only half way in, his intentions of filling him to the brim hindered by their position. His mouth finds Lan Xichen’s, his lips swollen and tender drinking his ragged breath. “Dage,” he mumbles, stroking his cock while he abandons himself to the gentle slamming of his hips, and the hard cock reminding him he was still sore from last night and drenched in him. Wet noises that should embarrass him bring the red up to his cheeks but make him ask for more while his tongue licks Nie Mingjue’s lips.

The toll of the bell startles him when he was about to bite back another moan. “It’s almost six, not five!” Nie Mingjue laughs, his hips slamming unhurriedly into him, his arms tightening around his leg and chest to hold him down. “I need to go!”

“You’re almost done,” he whispers teasingly when he struggles in his embrace. “But you’ll be awfully late today.”

“Hurry,” Lan Xichen says as a low-key protest while Nie Mingjue rocks into him as gently as if they had all the time in the world.

“It’s actually seven,” he bites his earlobe. “You slept soundly through the first morning calling.”

“Mingjue-xiong!” Lan Xichen doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry, to chastise him or ask him to fuck him harder. He suspects the latter as he yields and turns about to find his mouth and suckle at his lower lip. That always encourages Nie Mingjue in bed. Every toll of the bell is a deep, fulfilling thrust that reminds him how perfect that cock curves and how much he loves to have him inside. His moans mingle with the distant tolling, muffling his endless pleas for more and faster into a mouth that offers a mocking grin of satisfaction.

“Lan Huan.” With his name breathed out into his lips he spills, and with the next toll of the bell he wakes up.

Lan Xichen opens his eyes so widely the blank, morning light blinds him for a moment. Nightmares don’t haunt him as they used to; his recurrent bad memories turned into dreams that leave him panting and sweaty but for another reason entirely. His length tents the sheets, and he wraps a hand around himself, biting back a moan at how hard he finds it by just a lifelike dream. “So many years have passed and I still dream about you,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing his cock and sending a jolt of pleasure through his body.

Rolling to a side, he hides his face in the pillow, trying to find the comfort of his scent but finding none but his own. He has been faithful to someone that doesn’t walk this world anymore. No other lovers, no partners, nothing. Just those dreams that sometimes are too much to bear but that other times leave him with the sweet taste of his lips over his own and make his day not so unbearable. As much as he wants to indulge, Lan Xichen breathes in and gives a long stroke to his cock before he squirms out of the sheets and stands. Routine and self-restraint have taken over his life, but he no longer survives; he appreciates life for what it offers, hoping one day in heavens on in earth they’ll meet again.

He teaches often for the disciples coming and going to the Cloud Recesses every year, and he has seen several generations of cultivators taking in his knowledge and thank him for it. Lan Qiren, who now wears a grey sprinkled goatee, decides the syllabus and makes sure everyone knows the twelve sections of the Gusu Lan Sect rules by heart -or so he intends-. Lan Xichen stands and washes his face and hands on the basin, the cold water cooling off the dream that treacherously flashes through his mind.

The cultivation world has known nothing but peace for the past twenty years. The only dangers are the dark creatures from the underworld, and the dead waking up to stir up trouble. Humans will always be humans owning his fault in the injustices of the human realm, and their deaths awake ghouls, monsters, and vicious spirits just the same. There are areas raided by resentful energy, crimes by the dead or the living, ghosts that avenge those who wronged them in life, but at least the cultivation sects maintain a necessary peace and fight a common enemy instead of each other.

The title of Chief Cultivator has been abolished in favor of the old customs. Discussion Conferences happen every three months to decide the ways of the cultivators and settle issues between sects. Sometimes a lesser sect would quarrel with another for hunting territories, prey, or past grudges, but nothing so extreme as to send the world into another war.

As he ties his forehead ribbon, Lan Xichen remembers Lan Wangji. He comes often too and sometimes teaches the art of the guqin and the mysteries of the Qin language to those Lan Qiren personally handpicks, deeming them the more skilled. It’s an honor but also a painful process because the young disciples practice until their fingertips bleed. That’s the price of becoming the best and having the righteous Hanguang-jun as a teacher. Wei Wuxian comes when Lan Wangji does as the inseparable cultivation partners that they are. He has the same free spirit as if he were still twenty years old when he’s really forty. He looks more like the man he was in his previous life. The last time he saw him, his hair was arranged in a half up-do tied with a red string but his eyes sparked the same mischief and his grin still made his brother blush in the spot. It’s astonishing to realize even if he came back to this world being offered another body, he’s still the same in his mannerisms and the way he speaks.

When they come to the Cloud Recesses, they stay in the cottage that used to be their mother’s residence. They have filled the walls again with joy and the happy marriage they never saw when their parents were alive. They still roam the world and appear where the chaos is, but they have a home and a family to come back to.

Upon opening the door of the hanshi, Lan Xichen smiles when he spots Lan Sizhui carrying a tray with a succulent breakfast and tea. “Sizhui, you’re back,” he says with a sincere smile. He beckons him inside, knowing there is no point in telling him a cultivator his rank shouldn’t bring him breakfast.

“Since today is the day, I wanted to see Sect Leader Lan first,” Lan Sizhui says, leaving the tray on the table as they both sit. There are two cups, and he serves tea for both. “I hope you don’t mind we carry on with this tradition of ours on the first day.”

“Of course I don’t.” The day they receive the new disciples has always been Lan Sizhui’s favorite. New faces, the prospect of new friends to night-hunt with. Ever since he was a kid, he looked forward to it with his heart on his sleeve, making everyone feel comfortable and welcome knowing they’d be far from home and feeling homesick.

The Cloud Recesses has been his home and the Lan Clan his family since the day Lan Wangji brought him with. No one dared to say a word against it, not even their uncle. He’s been a little brother to Lan Xichen, and to Lan Wangji, the son he always wanted. Lan Xichen admires the cultivator he has become. There’s still a trace of that sixteen years old disciple in the innocence of his eyes, and he lets the same gentle heart rule his life. But he’s thirty-six now, proud and regal, and almost as tall as him. Lan Sizhui has proven his worth countless times as a famous cultivator, excelling in night-hunts and solving problems in the way of the Gusu Lan Sect.

“Are you ready?” Lan Xichen sips his tea to hide a withheld smile behind it. Lan Sizhui is the pride of the new generation of the Gusu Lan Sect, but he will become so much more being the youngest member of the Lan family.

“I hope I can live up to you, Zewu-jun, and the past Sect Leaders of the Gusu Lan Sect,” Lan Sizhui says, his voice sure of the words voiced out. He’s the future of the Lan Clan, he’s the heir to the sect once Lan Xichen is not around and they will make the official statement later today. It’s about time.

“You will,” Lan Xichen says. “And this will mean more responsibilities for you and probably less for me.” Lan Sizhui nods, hiding behind his cup of warm tea. “Now that I remember,” Lan Xichen frowns slightly. “Any sign of Wen Ning?”

Lan Sizhui chuckles. “Yes. I tracked him down a month ago, right on time for the newest disciples to arrive.” Apparently, night-hunting along with the Ghost General is expected if you come to study at Gusu despite Lan Qiren’s attempts to stop the tradition that took root since Lan Sizhui’s youngest years. But a few months ago, Wen Ning disappeared during the summer and no one knew where he was. He had come back from a night-hunt with some disciples. One of them had been injured -and lucky to have survived- but after Wen Ning returned them safely to the Cloud Recesses, no one could find him anymore. “Wen Ning was lying in a bed of dewy buds when I found him.” Lan Xichen hums, his eyebrows knitting. “I thought his soul had left his body, but as I came closer, he looked at me and told me what happened.” Lan Sizhui laughs again.

“What is it? Is he fine?” Lan Xichen asks. “If something has happened to him, we need to contact Master Wei, he’d want to know.” Lan Sizhui shakes his head and exhales a deep sigh.

“After the night-hunt in which a disciple was wounded, Lan Qiren saw him sneaking out and scolded him in the spot for hours!” The corners of his mouth pull upward as he speaks. “He got scared to death and promised to stay away from the disciples from now on.”

“Poor Wen Ning…”

“I spoke to him and arranged that I would accompany him a few times with the new disciples but that he would have to do what he’s been doing since I was young.”

“Hunting with the Ghost General, the main subject in the Gusu Lan Sect,” Lan Xichen jests. 

Once they finish their tea, they stand and leave the comfortable hanshi for a beautiful, autumn day in the Cloud Recesses. The leaves are starting to turn orange and fall, forming a fiery landscape that would shrink anyone’s heart upon seeing it.

Lan Sizhui walks abreast of him, realizing he might have reached his height but that Lan Xichen hasn’t changed at all in the past twenty years. Only he knows how far his cultivation has grown with a life dedicated to teaching and meditating. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” Lan Sizhui says, his hand resting comfortably over the hilt of his sword. The noise of the creek envelopes them as they walk to the Orchid Room when a young disciple walks faster than usual toward them. If he could, he’d be running.

“Sect Leader Lan,” he says, bowing politely. “Young Master Lan.” After a deep breath, the disciple speaks again: “Sect Leader Nie is waiting for you at the main hall.”

“Thank you,” Lan Xichen says, and he turns about to Lan Sizhui. “Welcome the new disciples for me and I’ll be there once I receive our guest.”

After a nod and a smile, Lan Xichen crosses the wooden bridge to meet Nie Huaisang. He wonders if his sudden appearance here in the Cloud Recesses is merely a polite visit to reminisce about the past, catch up, or if an important matter requires him.

Not a thousand years would change this place. He had to see it burnt down to ashes a lifetime ago. It cost his father’s life, and he had to exile and run away like a vulgar thief with half the books from the Library Pavilion at his back. All their sacrifices paid off in time, in longer than everyone thought, but it’s finally over. His home was rebuilt, his clan thrived after the war, and here they are, being one of the most respectable sects of the cultivation world. If only he hadn’t lost him, his life would be so different right now. A sad smile stretches his lips, and Lan Xichen has to remind himself Nie Mingjue’s soul has left this world and attained peace.

With a deep sigh, he steps into the main hall and finds Nie Huaisang sitting on the windowsill, fanning himself languidly. His gaze is lost in the beautiful gardenia tree outside. He looks happy, unaged, mature, but when his face turns and the corners of his eyes wrinkle, he sees the young cultivator that couldn’t pass Lan Qiren’s exams even if his life depended on it. And knowing Nie Mingjue’s temper, it kind of did back then.

“Xichen-ge,” Nie Huaisang greets.

“Huaisang.” Lan Xichen inches his way toward the window as Nie Huaisang stands. Married life has stolen from him all those wry smiles and the need to cover them with his folding fan. 

Since the day he married Jiang Cheng, and they became cultivation partners, Nie Huaisang has had smiles for everyone and has forgotten the schemes on behalf of his passion. He paints, he writes, he dedicates himself to arts and music, and he has never been happier. Whoever called him a good-for-nothing in the past has had to swallow their words as a bitter mouthful of poison. There are no banquets or feasts more renowned than the Qinghe Nie Sect, nor more enriching conferences than the ones he organizes. If a cultivator wants to dedicate his life to the seven arts, his sect is the one to enroll.

“Shall I expect your presence in the yearly hunting contest at Phoenix Mountain?” Nie Huaisang asks. “Perhaps your assistance in organizing it?” Lan Xichen chuckles. He knows he spends too much time in seclusion honing his cultivation in solitude. He skipped the last discussion conference, and the previous one before that, and, now he realizes he hasn’t attended one in more than he can recall. Lan Sizhui accompanies Lan Qiren -who wouldn’t miss them for anything in the world- but he understands now why his brother was never fond of them. As the years passed, he found them tedious and boring, preferring a whole month of secluded meditation over the ruckus of a conference and the endless banquets and duels afterward. He lives a peaceful life in the Cloud Recesses and he is contented with it.

“So this is a courtesy visit because you were concerned about my welfare?” Lan Xichen jokes.

“We haven’t seen each other since…” Nie Huaisang hums, pensive, the tip of his fan tapping his chin. “Since the third birthday of Sect Leader Jin’s twins!”

“Not that long ago.” Lan Xichen frowns.

“They will be five in a few months, Xichen-ge.” Nie Huaisang’s laugh invades the inner walls of the hall.

“Time is such a strange creature here in the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen says with an honest smile. “You get distracted, and a year has gone by.”

“The world needs to see that the Sect Leader of the Gusu Lan Clan hasn’t aged a single year,” Nie Huaisang cranes his head to a side to glance at Lan Xichen. He finds nothing less than the pristine beauty which he has always been known for.

“You’re too kind.” Lan Xichen shakes his head but has no heart to chastise the compliment.

“I’m not blind.”

“How’s Wanyin?”

“Same old, same old.” Nie Huaisang flicks his fan open and waves it distractedly. “He recruits every cultivator brave enough to attempt the impossible and win the merits to belong to the Yunmeng Jiang Sect.” He sighs. “He’ll live a thousand years holding onto Lotus Pier when I am eager to delegate my duties in my cousin.”

Lan Xichen frowns. “I thought you liked being a Sect Leader, you cleared your sect’s reputation and everyone looks up to your Discussion Conferences.”

“Except you missed the latest,” he quips in an amicable tune, but he clears his throat and changes the topic. “My cousin is more than ready to take over my responsibilities -he lowers his voice- and lifting them off my shoulders. He’s twenty, with a golden heart, a bright future in front of him, and…” Nie Huaisang stops with a smile when they halt near a balcony. 

The creek swooshes his way down the town, carrying the purest of waters you can find in this world. The Cloud Recesses is as enrapturing as he remembered, with the greenest of grasses and dewdrops that would linger in the petals of the flowers for hours after the sun comes out, gracing them with an otherworldly shine. An ever-present mist still envelopes the place like heaven on earth, and white clouds hug the peaks of the mountains nearby. He sneaks a sidelong glance to Lan Xichen, this place also has his own god roaming the earth.

“What were you saying?” Lan Xichen also seems taken aback by the landscape.

“Nothing, just babbling about my family and my conceited successor.” He sighs. His cousin is his favorite. Unexpectedly, the little one arrived in the Nie family twenty years ago. Nie Huaisang’s mother’s sister married into the Nie Clan, but after many years of marriage even though she was significantly younger than Nie Huaisang’s mother, she seemed to be barren. Who would have thought at a late age the heavens would bless her with the most precious, and awaited baby of all? It was Nie Huaisang’s best wedding present.

He took an interest and watched him grow up closely. The boy was the hope of his clan. He knew he wouldn’t produce an heir, and his birth lifted a weight off his shoulders. Those little brown eyes looked at him like a big brother, and it melted Nie Huaisang’s heart. He never skipped a birthday, Jiang Cheng spoiled him too, and they watched him grow and become a righteous man and a fierce cultivator. He represents all of what the Nie Sect meant to Nie Mingjue, so Nie Huaisang told his cousin about him since he was a little boy, turning him into a hero, an example to measure himself with.

“I’m glad you found your place and your family.” Lan Xichen says with his heart on his sleeve.

“A-Wang was such a cheerful child, and now he’s eight inches taller than me!” Nie Huaisang chuckles, his fan waving gently and sending a pleasant breeze toward his face. “He used to love my presents. I would give him fans, and trinkets, toys, the best fabrics for clothes, but one day he was introduced to the bedazzling world of the swords, the saber spirits, the martial arts, and -Nie Huaisang sighs- I had to give up and spoil him how my big brother would’ve thought appropriate.” Nie Huaisang gets lost in the memory of a little boy of no more than ten running toward him, a brand-new saber attached to his sash. He had a triumphant grin on his face. “Look at this, cousin!” he had said, unsheathing proudly the saber to show him. Nie Huaisang almost fainted in the spot, but it reminded him so much of his big brother he only laughed and hugged him.

“Have I met him?” Lan Xichen asks.

“Who?”

“Your cousin.”

“I don’t think so, he trains, and night-hunts, and trains again.” Nie Huaisang turns and leans on the wooden structure. “Come to Phoenix Mountain in a month and I’ll introduce you to the future Sect Leader of the Qinghe Nie Sect.”

“Is it final then?” Nie Huaisang nods at his question. “How are Sect Leader Jin and the twins?”

“Two charming, little nightmares who drive Jiang Cheng mad with love,” Nie Huaisang says and exhales a deep sigh. “He’s so proud of Jin Ling. The boy has come a long way.” He fidgets with the tassel of his fan, meeting Lan Xichen’s deep, dark eyes. “He has proven to be a remarkable sect leader; although he takes after his father, if you know what I mean.” Jin Zixuan erred in arrogance, acting like a peacock with too many feathers. “But he also takes after his mother and it shows.”

“I never had the chance to get to know Maiden Jiang,” Lan Xichen says.

“I met her once,” he remembers. “When a bunch of disciples visited Lotus Pier invited by Wei Wuxian.”

“Wangji wanted to go but stayed here with me instead,” Lan Xichen chuckles. “That summer he came up with the idea of frying watermelon crusts. Guess who can we blame for that…” They both laugh at those days of youngsters running around and believing smuggling Emperor’s Smile in the Cloud Recesses and getting caught was their worst problem.

“Maiden Jiang had a pure heart. She cooked for us, mended our clothes, and told us tales at the foot of a bonfire. And yet I barely remember her features, but when Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian reminisce about her, they end up laughing and crying in equal measure,” he says. “And drinking all my sweet wine.”

“Life goes on even if we don’t want to,” Lan Xichen mumbles.

“That it does,” Nie Huaisang turns and leans on the wooden balcony again. Coming back here always churned his stomach with memories of young love, his first love, his first kiss. Next time he has to bring Jiang Cheng with and retrieve from him the kiss he stole so long ago. A wide smile stretches his lips. “Do I have your word, Xichen-ge?”

“Phoenix Mountain, in a month,” Lan Xichen promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! (°◡°♡).:｡


	10. Chapter 10

The hunting grounds of Phoenix Mountain in the prime of autumn. Leaves burn like embers and fall tenderly off the tall trees. The fiery season has settled home and will stay for another month before the winter disrobes the woods and paints them in white. As he walks through the damp ground and mushed leaves, the subtle noise of a twig splintering startles him. He continues his way a little slower, his breath caught up in his chest.

His fingers graze the dried-up bark of a tree, the cooling breeze swaying his bangs in front of his eyes. Something’s after him, and he anchors his feet on the ground, his hand pressing on the trunk while the other closes around the hilt of his sword. The warmth of a stealthy body behind him knits his eyebrows in confusion. What was he expecting besides a monster or a fiend in the middle of a hunting competition?

Relaxing his stance, Lan Sizhui doesn’t turn and his hand loosens around his weapon, sensing no killing intent from the person. He’d recognize that scent in between a million. When he’s about to turn around, a body bumps into him and a pair of cold, slender hands cover his eyes. The corners of his mouth pull upward in a smile. “Who are you?”

No answer but a ragged breath puffing at the back of his neck, he still gathers his long hair in a ponytail, his long bangs, and fringe at the front. The sensation is so sweet it sends a frisson through his spine. The hands are soft and tremble slightly over the thin lids that shut his eyes.

“Who…” The word dies in his throat when the not-so-stranger slides his forehead ribbon over his eyes, blindfolding him. Only then he turns him around and brackets him against the tree. Unhurriedly, in a succession of gauged, caring movements of someone who gathers his courage from his anonymity. Or so they believe. The stranger takes a step forward until not a speck of air fits between them and Lan Sizhui’s hair tangles in the bark of the tree.

The same alluring breath that puffed against his neck wheezes near his mouth now and Lan Sizhui turns a new shade of red at the proximity. A hand nestles his face and he leans into it, recognizing its softness, but keeping his knowledge as well hidden as a withheld smile threatening to give him away.

Their lips brush in a feather-like caress, asking for permission. His mouth parts and Lan Sizhui gasps. He has heard the tale of Wei Wuxian’s first kiss so many times now he’s aware this is intentional on the other part and by far their first kiss. The air heats as their breaths mingle, his lips tingling and aching for more than the tender brush of their lips. He wants a proper kiss, and tilts his head slightly to the side, their noses bumping sloppily. Lan Sizhui doesn’t dare to open his eyes and escape the useless blindfold. What for? He knows all too well who they are, familiar with their hands, with their scent, with the way they hesitate.

It’s like falling off a cliff, worse than being pushed, just falling, falling, falling… and then it’s gone. The feet sustaining his body lift, his stomach drops and clenches in fear, but instead of crashing onto the ground they crush against each other. In the middle of a draw of breath, their lips pressing together at the slight sign of consent. It’s not a kiss anymore but a ruthless bite, fighting for the right to assail the other’s mouth first.

And they forget to breathe.

Only someone has kissed him like that in the past. Someone that never had the courage to pursue his mouth again with the same eagerness and that even blamed it all in a jar of Emperor’s Smile. They stole his first kiss and only ten or so years later they dare to steal another. Lan Sizhui pursues the sudden space between them for more when his stealthy lover backs off. He earns the pleasure of finding his mouth panting and his lips swollen. He suckles at his lower lip until they yield again to the lust of their mouths. A pink hue spreads on their cheeks and hides nothing from the heated bodies answering to the call.

They are not children anymore. This is not a blue streak of teenage kisses under a starry sky as they relish in the taste of wine until they can only taste themselves. This is a kiss worth ten years of unrequited love. They bring that kind of bitterness when, to Lan Sizhui, this is the sweetest treat of all. Again, they forget to breathe and the decorum they conduct themselves in their every day. His hand fists a handful of silky garments; the fabric is soft and recognizable like his own, and he allows himself a brief smug smile against those treacherous lips when they need to draw breath.

His spit-licked lips cool in the breeze; the mouth robbing him of his wits and his breath is not there anymore, nor is the man who had him pinned to a tree in the middle of a hunting contest. He has run away as he’s been running away from him for the past ten years. Lan Sizhui whips his head back, bumping on the tree trunk. When he catches his breath, he unfolds the forehead ribbon covering his eyes. He stares at it for a moment, curled up in his palm, the ends dangling freely in the wind. Only a person has dared to take it off, and they have had the nerve to do it again without owning their actions. Lan Sizhui ties it properly around his head. The only sign of what has happened is his swollen, tingling lips and his aching heart. “Jingyi, you, coward,” he mutters, straightening his long robes and cursing the sudden need of a warm body against him.

 

Lan Xichen stayed true to his promise and came to Phoenix Mountain with Hanguang-jun and Wei Wuxian. They had time to catch up the night before and during their journey, and he felt that slight pang of jealousy at how well-suited they are to each other. He had never seen his brother smile so often and it swells his heart. The Yiling Patriarch, although he has attended, has refrained from joining the competition. He says when someone beats his mark the year he participated when he was twenty years old, he’ll try again. If not, there’s no interest in chasing away the ghouls and walking corpses with a mere whistle, nor the hustle that it will cause to his fellow friend cultivators. Hanguang-jun won’t participate either, having wished Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi the best of lucks. Even though they are not juniors anymore, they still look up to him.

Half the cultivation world is competing in the hunting contest, and the other half is watching comfortably from the high towers at the entrance. Lan Xichen arrived just in time to see the shower of flowers and buds that covered Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi as they entered the arena on horseback. It brought him memories of when he used to receive the same treatment, but he’s glad that the Gusu Lan Sect has another pair of lauded cultivators.

After they won their entrance on the hunting ground with excellent marksmanship, Nie Huaisang dragged him away to help him solve an issue with the barrier bordering the contest in the farthest end. But as soon as they fixed the breakage, Nie Huaisang had to fly over to another place because of a dispute between the Qinghe Nie Sect and the Baling Ouyang Sect regarding the claim on a prey. He assured him it wouldn’t take long, seeing that the latter sect is associated with the Yunmeng Jiang Sect.

Lan Xichen pondered the idea of accompanying him, but the solitude of the fiery landscape and the prospect of a long walk back to the square allured him more. He won’t be joining in the hunting anyway, granting the newest cultivators a chance to prove themselves without a Sect Leader of his rank and prowess hoarding easily all the prey to himself. So, Lan Xichen saunters the woods on his way out, a long, white cloak with a cowl covering him completely and hiding his identity. He has no time for the murmurs and whispers if they see the Sect Leader of Lan out in a hunt after being renowned for spending the seasons in seclusion and rarely leaving the Cloud Recesses. Anonymity suits him, and he gets to admire the autumn showering him in dried-up leaves whenever a gust of wind shakes the treetops.

There are still a few hours left until the hunting grounds close, and there is still numerous prey to hunt. He has avoided every single one that he has encountered. It seems the size of the area was primly calculated by Nie Huaisang and there will be no need to expand the range. This year, the only issue has been the barrier dropping suddenly around the area they just fixed because of a high-level vicious spirit that tried to break free.

A hissing at his right makes Lan Xichen swivel about swiftly, lifting a cloud of orange leaves, his robes fluttering in the wind along with his graceful movements. He discerns the head of a snake dragging a heavy, thick body in a sinuous path. Undead, greenish eyes stare at him as though they could understand him. A beast from the Nanman area, not a dangerous one, but this is an outstanding specimen. Lan Xichen remains still, his hand sneaking underneath the thick layer of his cloak to wrap around Shuoyue’s hilt.

As expected, the creature known as measuring snake, straightens before him up to eight feet, exposing a cream scaled belly while its head lifts way over Lan Xichen’s not-at-all-shy height. The snake whips his tail, contented to have won the contest and choosing his dinner for tonight. It bares a full set of long, menacing fangs in the open, his forked tongue sizzling as the last warning.

Lan Xichen waits patiently for the attack, knowing he will have a better chance of winning in one, clean move if the snake attacks first. It will leave its flank defenseless as it lunges forward. His breath seizes in his chest, his sword unsheathed an inch. The snake backs off slightly to propel itself over him, and when he’s about to change the balance on the balls of his feet to dodge the expected dash forward, the glare of a sword flashes in front of his eyes, faster than lightning. It leaves a thin line of black blood on the still hissing snake.

“Who…” He turns about until his eyes land on another outstanding specimen that apparently also lurks the hunting grounds.

The head of the snake slides off his torso, his body convulsing for a few seconds before it stills on the ground, lifeless in a pool of black substance. A young cultivator wipes the blood of his saber on his sleeve, glancing at Lan Xichen with a shit-eating grin on his face. “You’re welcome,” he brags.

“Hm.” He keeps his hands underneath the sleeves of the cloak, his eyes scrutinizing the young cultivator from behind the safety of his cowl. It covers his forehead ribbon, the cloak his clouded Gusu uniform and his weapons, hence his identity is a mystery, and he intends to keep it that way.

On the other hand, the cultivator in front of him exhibits the motif and the decorations of his uniform and they belong to the Qinghe Nie Sect. The youth wipes the droplets of sweat off his forehead and doesn’t even bother to sheath his saber again. He wears a long, onyx ponytail with a familiar air of smugness; gentle eyes brimming with mischief when they linger on him a tad longer than what would be considered polite. Fortunately for Lan Xichen, only his lips pressed in a thin line and the dark wells of his eyes are visible. For the sake of his anonymity, he bows slightly and walks away from the bleeding corpse, but as he dodges a dark pool that would ruin his boots, Lan Xichen glances back at the young cultivator. “That prey was mine.”

“I saved you.” A sloppy curtsy and a charming smile that brightens up his face accompany his answer and Lan Xichen has to suppress a smile, fearful to encourage him.

“I didn’t need to be saved in the first place,” he quips, walking away, but the young cultivator reaches him in two strides and walks abreast of him.

“What if you hadn’t drawn your sword in time?” His voice is deep but playful as if he really meant no offense. “But if you want a claim on the prey, it’s yours. I’ll just find another for myself.”

Lan Xichen sighs, stopping at a halt and glancing at him. “There’s no need.”

“Let me guess,” the youth says, the corner of his mouth pulling upward in what seems to be an ever-present smile that surely melts a few dozen hearts a day. “You’re a rogue cultivator that just came down from a heavenly mountain and wants to prove himself in the hunting contest.”

Lan Xichen chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re far better with that saber than guessing.”

“I better be.” He sighs. “Many years ago, one of my ancestors hunted half the mountain all by himself and would’ve won the competition if the Yiling Patriarch hadn’t been there.”

“Did they?” Lan Xichen says while sad memories invade his mind. The ancestor he talks about was Nie Mingjue. Back then, Wei Wuxian hunted one-third of the prey in Phoenix Mountain and claimed it for the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, but Nie Mingjue hunted on his own half of the monsters and faes, leaving almost nothing to lesser sects and rogue cultivators. Even the Lanling Jin Sect took great offense on the matter, stirring up trouble for Jin Guangyao. He remembers spending the rest of the competition expanding the area to please the other sects.

The youth nods. Lan Xichen is sure he’s younger than he looks. “Even if this is my first year, I ought to do the same.” As if nothing else mattered in the world, he finishes with a smug smile.

“Chifeng-zun’s are pretty high standards to live up to,” Lan Xichen says, squinting his eyes at him. Up close, his face is strangely familiar. A strong and sharp jaw, perfect to frame that charming smile of his, his eyebrows thick and a deep black, his eyes warm, alluring, forbidden somehow. He glances back at him unabashed even though he’s covered in sweat and even injured in one shoulder, but he fidgets with the saber in his hand as if he were eager to continue.

“So?” The youth points at him with his chin. “A rogue cultivator?” Lan Xichen clears his throat and averts his gaze. “I have no time to sit around when there’s still so much to hunt.”

“You better get on with it,” Lan Xichen retorts.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says, leaping in front of him and lowering his head to peek inside his cowl. “I’d spent the night talking to a beauty like you, but duty calls…” Lan Xichen gives a throaty chuckle to his flirting, wondering who’s the shameless youth so oblivious to the world that has time for idle talk in the middle of a hunting competition. His confidence is either foolish or admirable.

“Good luck with your endeavor,” Lan Xichen says, passing right by him as their shoulders brush.

“Give me a name so I can find you,” The youth asks when he’s a few steps away. “I may have time later once I’ve won this competition for my sect. We can duel if you want.”

“You wouldn’t stand a chance.” Lan Xichen glances at him over his shoulder, his stomach curling in delight at that half-smile that reaches the corners of his eyes even after a defying answer. The youth looks so much like Nie Mingjue in his prime, that a dark shadow crosses his gaze, and with a sad smile, he hops on his sword and disappears over the treetops.

“That is no conventional sword…” Having rested enough, the youth makes a flourish with his saber and jogs his way into the depths of the woods. One prey got away, but he can slice a hundred more before sunset.

A longing long forgotten shrinks his thumping heart. Part of him wants to cherish the brief encounter with the young Nie cultivator, and part of him mourns the man he sees behind his eyes. As a joke of destiny, he had to come across someone that awakened his grief for the man that no longer walks the earth beside him. The cold breeze of autumn as he flies out of the hunting ground numbs his senses. Lan Xichen sighs because he knows somewhere, somehow, Nie Mingjue’s soul is safe even though he will mourn for him until his days are over.

At the highest tower, Lan Xichen spots Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian chatting with Nie Huaisang, so he heads their way. Shuoyue sheathes on its own as he taps the balcony with a foot and lands gracefully among them. The fellow cultivators nearby murmur about the mysterious daozhang sneaking into their tower, but the murmurs and protests turn into gasps of admiration when Lan Xichen removes his cowl and reveals his face.

“What an entrance, Xichen-ge,” Nie Huaisang teases, waving his folding fan. “If I hadn’t spent all my flowers on my husband, I’d throw one at you.”

“I had my fair share in my days.” Lan Xichen smiles and greets them properly before he leans on the balcony and stares listlessly at the hunting grounds. From this height, the only discernible things are the big seals in the sky, occasional flares to communicate between sects across long miles, and the glare of distant swords if they are powerful enough. The sun offers the already fiery landscape a warm aura in orange and pink, the light playing tricks with the barrier on the limits. It’s truly a sight to behold.

“Why back already?” Nie Huaisang asks discreetly.

“I didn’t want to interfere with the contest and I almost had to take down prey,” he explains.

“Huaisang, you truly did an amazing job organizing the hunting competition,” Wei Wuxian says, lifting his cup of wine at him.

“Hm,” Lan Wangji agrees as a silent jade statue.

The surrounding cultivators agree too. Not long ago, the highest tower belonged to the most renowned sects, but even though the old ranking system still works the same and grants the sects with fame and recognition, it doesn’t come with added benefits or privileges based on status. Sharing the towers according to the participants seemed much fairer and keeps the sect leaders on their toes.

“Who’s winning?” Wei Wuxian asks, leaning on his husband’s chest. Lan Wangji is distracted inspecting along with his brother the hunting ground below them.

“The Qinghe Nie Sect,” Lan Xichen says, a withheld smile stretching his lips.

“How did you know, Xichen-ge?” Nie Huaisang asks, scrutinizing him over the brim of his folding fan.

“I believe I have met your cousin by chance,” Lan Xichen turns about to meet his gaze and finds the glimpse of a smile behind. “If the young, bold cultivator with an astonishing family resemblance that I encountered is him.”

“What a coincidence! You all must come later to dine with us,” Nie Huaisang invites the two Jades of Lan and Wei Wuxian. “I’ll make the proper introductions.”

“Proper…” Lan Xichen murmurs, the smile finally finding his way to his lips.

“What did you say?” Nie Huaisang hides behind his fan.

“I look forward to it.” If he’s right about his hunch, he cannot wait to see the surprise on the young cultivator’s face when he realizes he has tried to flirt with the Sect Leader of the Gusu Lan Clan. Perhaps he’ll lose that smug smile of his, albeit he doubts it; or maybe he doesn’t recognize him at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧  
> Ahh... Nie Huaisang, your cousin knows no shame!! (灬º 艸º灬) If this chapter was a bit short, don't worry, next Tuesday's is 7k long and we'll have more Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi... you really wouldn't think I'd let things like that, do you? ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿
> 
> See y'all then! ~ヾ ＾∇＾
> 
> PS: The NieLan Weekend started today! I have nothing new to share, but many wonderful artists will share their works and we can all swoon with delight for our favorite pair. Make sure you follow them on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Nielan2019) (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter ahead ∪*ゝω･)ﾉ”

After the sun disappeared behind the peak of the mountain, the competition ended and the weary cultivators came out of the hunting grounds in a constant flow to rest and come back for the celebrations afterward. A huge banquet follows the successful hunting, and the town at the foot of Phoenix Mountain gets ready to accommodate the burst of activity.

A myriad of pagodas crowd the main square and gather the family banquets of every clan. They are decorated in the colors of the sect, with banners hanging from the tiled roofs, and paper lanterns to illuminate the pagodas and lead the way. Rogue cultivators and villagers stroll through the square and the streets nearby, displaying an infinite row of food stalls that offer all kinds of specialties: candied fruit, spicy delicacies of Yunmeng, rice wine from Gusu, bowls of rich stew from Qinghe.

The cultivation world in full enjoys the arrival of the autumn and the harvest. They gather here once a year for what has become the most important competition to climb the ranks beside the archery contest. The event at Phoenix Mountain has always been a display of wealth and power, but far from the menacing sects wanting to rule over the others, they have achieved a peace hard to disturb. They all can thrive and prove their merits every once in a while because no one has forgotten the war that cost everyone so much.

Inside the unmistakably decorated pagoda of the Gusu Lan Clan, a large table hosts the cultivators who competed this year. Among them, there are new disciples that went to watch and prepare for future years, renowned cultivators, elders of the Lan family, and even Lan Qiren. The clouded motif paints the tablecloth, sprinkled with numerous dishes ready to be consumed. Vegetable mooncakes in the shape of a cloud, onion steamed buns, and a huge steamy pot of broth. The Lan Clan has ranked second this year, followed closely by the Lanling Jin Sect, but everyone knows if the two Jades of Lan had entered the hunting grounds, they would’ve won by far.

“You have not eaten much,” Lan Wangji whispers, eyeing the half-empty bowl of broth of Wei Wuxian. “Waste not.” Accustomed to, he exchanges it with his empty one.

“I’m waiting for the good stuff later,” Wei Wuxian replies with a sly smile. “I can almost taste the Yunmeng spicy dishes I’ll be having.”

“Hm.” Lan Wangji hides his smile behind the bowl as he downs the lukewarm broth.

Lan Xichen watches the scene from the other side of the table while finishing a serving of boiled taro. The ruckus outside in the streets and the heady scent of incense mingling with the smell of many different foods is making him nurse a headache. He never thought to spend so much time secluded and away from the world would turn his senses to mush at the slight sign of a noisy celebration. The overlapping conversations and distant music make him wish for some peace and quiet, but he cannot ignore his obligations as Sect Leader, and they still need to pay a visit to the Qinghe Nie Sect banquet and congratulate Nie Huaisang for the victory.

“Please, give me another mooncake, Sizhui-ge,” Lan Jingyi says, still chewing a mouthful of the previous one. Lan Sizhui picks a perfectly round and golden mooncake stuffed with red bean paste and hands it over to him. He picks it up from his chopsticks before he can leave it on his plate, and he smiles until he realizes Lan Jingyi acts as if nothing had happened between them. Again.

The celebration afterward is as important as the competition itself. The sects gather together, congratulate each other for their achievements during the year, and settle important reunions or future gatherings to hunt in the private areas reserved for the disciples’ training. It is also the start of the season, so ranking among the top ten sects now sets the mood for the rest of the year. The reunion has an underlying meaning too; sharing food and delicacies from every area, tasting mooncakes with different fillings and shapes depending on the sect and the customs of the city are a symbol of respect among cultivators and sects altogether. Celebrating their unity is key to not fall in past mistakes.

“Sizhui, Jingyi,” Wei Wuxian says, a sly smile curling the corner of his mouth upward. “Did you encounter any remarkable creatures?”

Lan Jingyi hustles to swallow the food in his mouth but Lan Sizhui comes forward. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he says.

“Nothing?” Lan Jingyi knits his eyebrows. “I suppressed a vicious ghost and a high-level fierce corpse all by myself, I even eyed a flying fiend, but it got away.”

“I found nothing remarkable,” Lan Sizhui mutters, sipping his tea distractedly. “Besides the same old creatures that we’ve been fighting since our younger days.”

“Humph.” Lan Jingyi stuffs his mouth with the mooncake as fast as he can, swallowing a dry mouthful with the help of the remains of his tea. “If you excuse me. Sect Leader Lan, Hanguang-jun, Master Wei.” He bows his head politely but scoots out of the pagoda before any of them can answer him. Lan Sizhui watches him leave, his heart thumping for a few seconds until he makes up his mind.

“Excuse me too, please.” He stands, following him.

Watching the scene unfold with glass-like eyes and as impassibly as always, Lan Wangji frowns slightly, but Wei Wuxian leans to whisper quietly in his ear: “I believe Sizhui encountered a fair maiden who also stole a kiss, does it ring a bell?” The confusion on his face becomes even more evident after his words. “I’ll explain later, Lan er gege,” Wei Wuxian teases, giving him a peck on the cheek and turning the tip of his ears a subtle pink as if he had been enjoying the sour taste of wine instead of green leaf tea. Wei Ying turns his attention to a very distracted Sect Leader who seems to have his mind in another world very far from here. “Zewu-jun, should we visit the Qinghe Nie Sect pagoda?”

Lan Xichen smiles and nods. “Yes, we’ve been invited and it would be rude not to attend.” The prospect of formally meeting Nie Huaisang’s famous cousin takes the dullness away and enlightens the prospect of the night.

 

Shouldering his way through the crowd as politely as he can, Lan Sizhui follows the white ends of Lan Jingyi’s forehead ribbon as he gets away from the celebrations. He knows he’s upset, but he should be the one upset because again, he’s been kissed and then abandoned to wonder if it means the same for both or if this is just another game which rules he ignores. “Jingyi!” he shouts. “Wait!” He gets ahold of his sleeve and stops him in his tracks. “Why did you leave like that?”

“Nothing remarkable?” His lips press in a thin line. He looks like the youth that kissed him for a whole night as they finished a jar of Emperor’s Smile and the next morning acted as if nothing had happened. “I’m not remarkable.” They were around twenty back then, Lan Jingyi gravitating around Lan Sizhui and the other way around. Inseparable, night-hunting together since they were so young, always having the other’s back, going through thick and thin, facing death more times they would’ve wanted with the heaviness of that night over their shoulders and over their friendship.

“Would have you preferred that I announced to the whole table that you kissed me?” Lan Sizhui retorts, knitting his eyebrows. Lan Jingyi mumbles a curse and leads them underneath the roof of a wooden house. They can still listen to the ruckus of the celebrations, but at least they have some kind of privacy for a conversation they should have had a long time ago.

“Don’t say it like that,” Lan Jingyi mumbles, leaning his back on the wall as he lowers his head.

“Why not? You can kiss me and then forget about it as soon as your lips lift from mine but I can’t say it?” Lan Sizhui takes a deep breath in to calm himself down. It’s not like they are young and know nothing about life anymore though apparently, they know nothing about love.

“You never liked me,” Jingyi mutters. “You never will.”

“Why would you say that?” Lan Sizhui steps closer, his eyes fixed on that rebellious strand of hair that Lan Jingyi tries to tame in the morning to no avail.

“Because you’ve always had a crush on Jin Ling and I’m the second best.”

“When I was sixteen!” Lan Sizhui snorts. “He’s happily married and we’re good friends, but I got over it a long time ago.”

“But you never had a crush on me,” Lan Jingyi repeats. “I’ve seen you going out with girls, fooling around with them, but never with me.”

“The same girls you fooled around with if I remember correctly.” Lan Sizhui doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry, but he sure wants to slap some sense in him.

“You seemed to enjoy kissing them,” Lan Jingyi mutters goaded by a stupid pang of jealousy at many past carousing nights in which he had bedded the wrong person wondering who was with Lan Sizhui in the adjacent room. It ate him alive for days even though he had been with someone else as well. He never had the courage to turn them down and chose him instead. Not even after a jar of wine could he muster the audacity to steal another kiss from his lips. He always wondered what would happen, if their friendship would survive another foul play on his part or if his heart would shatter in the spot after an unreturning kiss from Lan Sizhui. And yet earlier today, he kissed him back.

Lan Sizhui sighs as he realizes they cannot make up for past mistakes now. “Who have I hunted with for over fifteen years? Who do I trust to have my back and help me when I need it? Who kissed me for a whole night and then broke my heart the morning after? Or have you forgotten?”

Lan Jingyi shakes his head. “I thought you did it because we were drunk and I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me.” Now that he voices out the thoughts of a twenty-year-old youth deeply in love with his best friend, he finds them stupid and empty.

“It’s always been you, you fool,” Lan Sizhui chides. His hand finds Lan Jingyi’s, and he squeezes it as if the gesture would reassure his words.

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask either,” Lan Sizhui quips. 

A pair of eyes full of regret and unrequited love glance at him. He hasn’t changed at all, he’s the same noisy disciple that curses too much and cries at sad stories; the same that has gotten over his fear of ghosts but shivers when he senses one around; the friend he always loved from the bottom of his heart and learned to love in a different way as the years together went by. “Can we speak the truth for once instead of sweeping it under the carpet?”

But Lan Sizhui has already said everything Lan Jingyi wanted to hear. “Lan Yuan,” he whispers, lunging forward until he bumps into his lips as if it were a reflex and not a conscious action. Shyness rules the kiss in comparison with what he offered in the hunting grounds, but Lan Sizhui melts under his lips and kisses him back, cupping his face and smiling. His cheek is warm and soft, that’s how he knows it’s flushed in pink even after so many kisses and so many years. This feels like being twenty again, careless and in love.

When they back off to draw breath from their chaste kiss, Lan Sizhui presses their foreheads together and speaks: “Took you long enough, don’t you think?” Lan Jingyi snorts, his hands clammy but still clinging to him and refusing to let go. With a last peck on his mouth, Lan Sizhui swivels about and drags him with into the crowded streets. “Let’s find you some chicken wings,” he says with a wink.

Lan Jingyi follows after him, glancing down at their interlaced hands and blinking several times, dumbfounded. If this is a dream of his youth, he doesn’t want to wake up ever again. He stops at a halt and tugs at Lan Sizhui’s arm, making him bump into his chest. He’s not a kid anymore, neither of them is, and they’ve wasted enough time. Lan Jingyi winds an arm around his waist and another cups his face. An eternity ago, Lan Sizhui was taller, but not anymore. He tilts his chin upward and takes his mouth with the entitlement of a lover; unabashed of the multitude murmuring around them, of the bold kiss in which he parts his lips with a swipe of his tongue and sneaks inside as he has always wanted. No more dreams, no more wishful thinking, Lan Sizhui belongs into his arms and he’ll never let his insecurities slip between them again, or so he naively believes.

“I don’t think I can stop now,” Lan Jingyi mumbles against his mouth.

“No one has told you to,” Lan Sizhui gasps, the corners of his mouth pulling upward. “Fool.”

“Your fool.” Before Lan Jingyi falls for his mouth again, he frowns and stares into Lan Sizhui’s gentle eyes. “Earlier… I-I meant to confess.” Lan Sizhui smiles. “But I panicked.”

“I know.”

 

Meanwhile, the two Jades of Lan and Wei Wuxian stroll through the square, heading to the Qinghe Nie Sect and the Yunmeng Jiang Sect pagodas. The banquets of both sects collided in one since their sect leaders have been happily married for over two decades. Lan Xichen walks at the front, taking in the overwhelming atmosphere, dodging palanquins transporting maidens and rich merchants that seek to mingle with the elite of cultivators.

The Qinghe Nie area is crammed by their people. They are drinking and celebrating, toasts and cheers resounding everywhere as they get closer to the main table. The Nie Sect amassed the majority of the kills in the hunting grounds, and so far, rank number one this season. The debut of the sect’s pride has earned today a name among all the cultivators. If they hadn’t heard about the future Sect Leader of the Qinghe Nie Sect before, they surely will recognize the name of Nie Shengzai after this day. Such honor hadn’t reached their sect since the days of Chifeng-zun, hence the clamor of their celebrations.

As they approach and climb the steps of the pagoda, Nie Huaisang spots them and waves his fan effusively. Standing along with Jiang Cheng, they greet them and brush politeness off quickly so they can be brothers among brothers. “Xichen-ge, please sit. You too, Hanguang-jun. Wei-xiong.” Some cultivators stand and give their seats to them.

“Congratulations are in order,” Lan Xichen says while Nie Huaisang chuckles and leans on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. A bell hangs from his sash, his robes pooling around him long as gracefully as the black sea of his hair. The tassel of his folding fan dangles sweetly with every sway of his wrist, and the many rings adorning his fingers glitter under the light of the paper lanterns.

“We both know the Gusu Lan Sect will surpass us in the archery contest, but I must admit my cousin has exceeded all my expectations,” Nie Huaisang says while Jiang Cheng slides a plate full of steamed lotus root with glutinous rice and honey in front of Wei Wuxian. “My brother would be so proud of him if he were here.”

“I’m sure he would have,” Lan Xichen answers with a sad smile. He cannot take away from his mind the family resemblance and how Nie Huaisang’s cousin reminded him so much of Nie Mingjue when he was young and reckless; before the war had its toll on him, before the tragedy that happened to his father put the weight of a sect over his shoulders at such a young age. At sixteen, Nie Mingjue became sect leader, this youth on the other hand, at twenty, only cares about hunting more than his predecessor and excelling at cultivation. No wonder he’s so bold and full of himself.

“Oh! This is so good,” Wei Wuxian mumbles with a mouthful of food. “No offense, Hanguang-jun.”

“None taken,” Lan Wangji nods and thanks Nie Huaisang for the tea that he serves for him and Lan Xichen.

The cold of the night cannot reach them surrounded by lanterns, candles, and the spicy food of Yunmeng. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian devour dish after dish as they carry on with their banter. The prospect of making small talk being a burden vanishes when the table reminisces about the past, their younger days, and shared adventures. Happy memories outweigh the bad. He’s always glad to talk about Nie Mingjue with Nie Huaisang, only he understands what he has gone through and still grieves for him like himself.

But part of Lan Xichen cannot help but wonder what would this celebration be if Nie Mingjue were here with them; if he hadn’t died by the hands of their sworn brother. “He’ll be drinking wine and laughing louder than anyone here,” Nie Huaisang whispers just for him, and Lan Xichen agrees with a smile.

“And bragging about the prey he hunted,” he adds. “Or so he did back then.” The memory of Nie Mingjue patting Jin Guangyao on the back while laughing because he had caused so much trouble hoarding all the prey in the competition is like a double-edged sword through his heart.

“Jin Ling!” Jiang Cheng calls when his nephew approaches the table with a bitter expression that runs in the family. He suspects Sect Leader Jin was expecting to win the competition this year again but ended up in third place instead.

After the mandatory salutations between sect leaders and family members, Jin Ling sits between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng and pours himself a cup of wine. “How come Sizhui-xiong and Jingyi-xiong are not here?”

“We lost them,” Wei Wuxian says, stuffing a spicy wonton in his mouth. “But I’m sure they’ll stop by later.” Jin Ling frowns as he sips his wine.

“Congratulations, Sect Leader Nie.”

“Thank you, Sect Leader Jin.” Nie Huaisang hides a sly smile behind his fan.

“Although if my wife had been here, the Lanling Jin Sect would’ve won,” Jin Ling quips. The table chuckles and agrees, aware of Madam Jin’s expertise in battle. The Jin couple is famous for always taking down the most dangerous creatures together, capturing them for their own hunting grounds when possible. A few years ago, Jin Ling ventured in the depths of a heavenly mountain. The legends told in said mountain there was a cave where you could claim very rare and special spiritual weapons and find the most strange and dangerous creatures and deities. After two days on his own and no trace of the entrance of the cave, he found her. Their swords exchanged a few clashes before they exchanged any word, and then they night-hunted together for a fortnight. Jin Ling came back to Lanling announcing to his uncles that he would marry her, a rogue cultivator with no affiliation to any sect but with skills only matched by the highest cultivators. They blessed the sect with two heirs soon afterward.

“Better luck next year,” Nie Huaisang says sincerely. “I can’t wait to see you two competing against my cousin, he has proved to have a predisposition for these challenges.”

“Beginner’s luck,” Jin Ling scoffs. “But he’s always welcomed at the Lanling hunting grounds to prove himself with real prey.”

“He’ll be delighted, I’m sure,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

“I captured a feiyi snake.” It’s not uncommon for the sects to keep some of the monsters and creatures they hunt for their private hunting areas. It serves their own disciples as practice and delights their guests too. A feiyi snake is a rare mutant monster with a single head and two bodies; reasonably easy to kill but hard to snare due to its elusive nature. “It took me longer than I expected.” Jin Ling clicks his tongue.

“But it was good prey.” Jiang Cheng pats him in the back. “Where are the twins?”

“Where could they be if Young Master Nie is around?” Jing Ling retorts.

“Ah! There he is,” Nie Huaisang says, waving his folding fan effusively to grasp his attention.

A loud guffaw and a pair of childish screeches stop his heart at a halt as if a knife had gone through and through. Lan Xichen turns about, his hands over his knees, his white, pristine garments draping at both sides of his body. A gentle breeze strokes his face when he glances over his shoulder, his mouth parting slightly at the sight before it turns into a subtle smile.

He sports the same smug smile, but there’s a tenderness to it that wasn’t there before as he spins with two giggling toddlers hanging from his arms. Lan Xichen swallows, taking in the happy faces of the kids wearing the sparks amidst snow uniform as they cling to the young cultivator’s biceps, defying every turn and every spin and even asking for more.

How he wished to see Nie Mingjue in life as happy and careless as this youth, enjoying his family with no other care in the world than mingling in the celebrations after a well-deserved victory. The way his eyes brim with joy and excitement brings an unexpected smile to his lips. He can barely recognize the bold cultivator from the woods with that ruthless glare and a sword dripping blood as if he knew no other trade. Instead, he cradles a twin in his arm and lifts the other by the foot, teasing him.

“Cousin!” Nie Huaisang calls. “Come here!”

His head turns at the sound of a familiar voice calling him, but his eyes lock with the beauty in white. He’d recognize those lips anywhere with only a glance, not to speak about those deep, dark eyes that stare back at him with an all-knowing aura. His grin widens, and he trips on the wooden steps as he enters the pagoda. He doesn’t avert his gaze, he stares with the same boldness he did back in the woods, but once he’s closer and recognizes him, a gentle blush spreads on his already reddened cheeks. The forehead ribbon, the clouded pattern, the pristine silvery garments with baby blue decorations, and to top it all, a top-knot with a sumptuous crown worth of a sect leader. He swallows thickly, putting the kids down on the floor as they run to their uncle and father’s laps.

Lan Xichen’s gentle smile hints there’s no need to worry, and it turns a little smug when he glances up at the youth standing beside him. “Finally, I can make introductions. My cousin and future sect leader, Nie Shengzai.” All eyes are on him, but Nie Shengzai is only aware of Lan Xichen’s. He shouldn’t have said the things he did back in Phoenix Mountain, not to a renowned cultivator of his fame and prowess; not to an honorable Sect Leader that is almost a living legend. “Zewu-jun, Lan Xichen and the Sect Leader of the Gusu Lan Clan, his younger brother Hanguang-jun, Lan Wangji, and you already know the Yiling Patriarch since he has been most helpful to us these past years.” Wei Wuxian has been helping the Qinghe Nie Sect regarding the saber spirits. A series of magic arrays engraved in the hilt of the sabers help the cultivators by minimizing the side-effects of the exposure to resentful energy and protecting their golden cores.

“Glad to see you again, Young Master Nie,” Wei Wuxian says and Nie Shengzai nods at him.

“It’s an honor to meet the two Jades of Lan in the flesh,” Nie Shengzai says, bowing his head to the pair of white gods at the table. “Sect Leader Jiang. Sect Leader Jin.”

“Enough formalities, just sit, join us,” Nie Huaisang chides, serving more cassia wine for himself and pouring another serving for his cousin. “Xichen-ge, is my cousin the youth you encountered while you sauntered by the hunting grounds?” The sly question is only masked by a sip of wine and the handy folding fan.

Lan Xichen glances at his side, meeting those brown colored eyes. Up-close he looks even more like Nie Mingjue, even the way his hair frames his face, the sharpness of his jaw, and the broad shoulders that straighten under his gaze. “Yes, I had the pleasure to see him slay a measuring snake in one swing,” Lan Xichen replies, the corner of his mouth pulling up imperceptibly for anyone but Nie Shengzai.

“If I had known...” Nie Shengzai replies.

“And you won!” The little girl on Jiang Cheng’s lap shouts. “What did he win, uncle?” Jiang Cheng chuckles and pats her head, thinking how much her impromptu personality and a sharp mind remind him of his own mother.

“He won recognition as a cultivator and glory and honor for his sect,” he answers.

“Can I play next year too?” she says with glittering eyes.

“In a few years, when you come of age, you will wield Zidian as your grandmother did,” Jiang Cheng explains.

“But you need not worry about that just yet,” Jin Ling quips, pinching her cheek. His other twin is already drowsy in his arms.

“More tea?” Nie Shengzai offers to Lan Xichen, teapot in hand.

Most of the night goes by so fast they lose count of the wines and the teapots they have downed along with the food. Jin Ling retired a while ago, taking the twins with him while Nie Huaisang makes himself comfortable reclined on his husband’s side. The full moon is already high in the sky waiting for the worship it deserves in the first night of the autumn harvest. But as much as he is enjoying the familiar company of friends and the unexpected and curious conversation with his new acquaintance, Lan Xichen needs to retire to the inn and a good night of rest more than air.

“If you excuse me, I will retire,” Lan Xichen says, standing gracefully and feeling his legs numb after sitting for so long. The walk to the inn will do him well. “Huaisang, now that you have convinced me to attend the hunting competition, I expect you to come to the Discussion Conference in Gusu next month.”

“Count on it, Xichen-ge,” he says. “I may even bring Shengzai with me.” Nie Huaisang shoots a glare at his cousin who seems everything but upset at the prospect of a Discussion Conference when he’s well known for avoiding them and refusing to attend one.

“You are both more than welcome.” With those last words, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian see him off and Lan Xichen leaves, disappearing in the multitude with both hands at his back and the ends of the forehead ribbon fluttering in the nightly breeze.

After just a few moments, Nie Shengzai stands with intentions to leave. “Where are you going?” Nie Huaisang pulls at his sleeve across the table.

“To apologize,” he whispers with all the discretion he can muster.

“Have you offended Sect Leader Lan?” A mischievous smile stretches his lips and Nie Shengzai turns beet-red. After all, Nie Huaisang is like a big brother to him, more than just a cousin, and he’s old enough to chide him or question his actions.

“Maybe… I hope not,” Nie Shengzai mumbles. “It’s all right, cousin.” Nie Huaisang lets him go, squinting his eyes at him as he heads in the same direction Lan Xichen left.

“We will be going too,” Wei Wuxian says, taking Lan Wangji’s hand as he hoists himself up. “I want to show Hanguang-jun a special place in the mountain and settle and long overdue debt.” Wei Wuxian intends to steal as many kisses from Lan Wangji as he can in retaliation for that one time he was blindfolded and oblivious to his husband’s lustful intentions.

“Hm.” Lan Wangji links an arm around his waist, suspecting his intentions, and glances back at the table and their friends. “Thank you Sect Leader Nie and Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Wangji says.

“I hope to see you both again soon,” Jiang Cheng says with an honest half-smile that Wei Wuxian returns before they leave. Nie Huaisang pours more wine for both. “We’ll be here a while longer, I suppose?” Jiang Cheng chuckles when Nie Huaisang hands him a cup of wine while nestling in his hand one for himself.

“A while?” Nie Huaisang whispers, sipping his wine and resting the cup on the table. His folding fan opens with a flick of his wrist, and he leans closer to whisper into his ear. “What if the wine has left me lusting for something else?”

Jiang Cheng turns about to face him. “What are you scheming, A-Sang?”

“Nothing, Jiang er gege,” he pouts but a sly smile stretches his lips too soon, unable to pretend in front of him. “I swear, I really don’t know.” He fans them both languidly, bringing the coolness of the night to their heated faces. “But my cousin better pray to Chang’e tonight.” Only the full moon in a night like this could help Nie Shengzai fulfill his romantic wishes. He couldn’t have chosen a more impossible conquest than Zewu-jun’s armored heart.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate either,” Jiang Cheng mumbles. “And I don’t think Zewu-jun is interested in the least.”

“I know my cousin. I’ve seen him grow up.” Nie Huaisang sighs.

“So have I.”

“But you’re oblivious to these kinds of things I’ve noticed, Jiang er gege,” Nie Huaisang nuzzles against the crook of his neck, his nose outlining the perfect shape of his jaw. “He got an interest in Zewu-jun, the way they stare and act so naturally around the other when they have just met.”

“If you say so.” Jiang Cheng dismisses his concerns, distracted with the soft caresses of his breath puffing against his neck, the nose teasing his way up to his earlobe, and his lips landing a feather-like kiss there. “Give us a kiss before I go mad and snare you in our bed.”

Nie Huaisang’s lips curl upward. “In front of everyone?” he feigns to be scandalized, but his body leans into him and he wets his lips with a flick of his tongue.

“Use that handy fan of yours.” He does, and Jiang Cheng takes his mouth and tastes the sweetness of apricots and peaches that lingers in his tongue and lips after a night indulging. It’s a kiss that tastes just like their first. He loves how his husband parts his lips for him, how he whines and rumbles from the back of his throat and yields to his mouth as Jiang Cheng wants him to. “We should retire to our room.”

“That we should…” Nie Huaisang presses their lips again, knowing how to build his husband’s desire little by little. He’s starting to note the headiness of the wine dulling his senses, or perhaps is the ever-lasting love for Jiang Cheng that warms his soul and makes his head spin even after so many years.

 

Lurking through the streets while dodging villagers and cultivators still celebrating, Nie Shengzai is almost sure he has lost sight of Lan Xichen. He’s about to give up when he spots the hem of his fluttering garments turning at the next corner. He grins, picking up a jar of sweet wine from a stall and tossing twice its price on the wooden counter. The streets are less crowded as they get farther away from the main square which only makes his job easier.

Nie Shengzai isn’t following him because he’s intrigued and curious, he follows the shadow of a myth, one of the most powerful cultivators roaming the earth; he chases the long lost love of his childhood hero. Chifeng-zun and Zewu-jun are not a secret to him nor to anyone, there are songs that the bards play for wishful maidens about their tragic story. Lan Xichen is the sworn brother that had to mourn for him twice and never rested until he liberated his soul. Albeit that last part is a secret well-kept within a few.

That old tale is one his cousin had told him one night they were stuck in the Unclean Realm, the residence stricken by a storm that lasted three nights and three days. He was around fifteen, and Nie Huaisang was overwhelmed by the endless questioning about Nie Mingjue and his fate, about Baxia, the many stories he had heard a thousand times and asked to be told a thousand more. Nie Shengzai knew them all by heart except that one. He listened with his eyes wide as if his face was the sky and it had two moons. Nie Huaisang told him the tale of how they opened the coffin, of how they used Baxia and reclaimed Nie Mingjue’s soul from the depths of resentfulness.

His heart beat faster than the rain tapping the windowsill, and every lightning and every thunder would make him flinch, his imagination playing tricks on him. His hero was not doomed forever under a mountain and trapped in a cage with his most despised enemy. Chifeng-zun’s soul was free and had ascended to heaven and he was overjoyed by the wrongful end turning into a rightful rest. 

And among the men responsible for his fate was Lan Xichen. What kind of man was he? Why does he hide from the world? Why does he mourn for him still? But as Nie Huaisang finished his story and saw the excitement in his eyes, he made him promise to keep the secret and made him swear on Chifeng-zun’s soul. That was the deal and Nie Shengzai has been true to his word. His cousin and the men helping him will always be in the dark for the rest of the world, but tonight he has the chance to glimpse at the man Nie Mingjue loved. As many times as he has asked, Nie Huaisang has never told him that story ever again. “When you become Sect Leader we’ll talk,” he always says.

There’s an eerie aura around Lan Xichen as if the moonlight reflected brighter on him than over the rest of the mortals. Tempted to stare at him from a safe distance, utterly besotted, he follows him. But unable to help himself, Nie Shengzai jogs his way beside him, the jar of wine dangling from his wrist. He walks abreast of him, and Lan Xichen notes his presence and turns his jade features to him.

“You should be celebrating, Young Master Nie,” he quips, eyeing the jar of wine dangling from the youth’s wrist.

“I am celebrating.” Nie Shengzai lifts the jar of wine and grins, earning a chastising shake of the head from Lan Xichen. “But I wanted to apologize for my behavior, Sect Leader Lan.”

“There’s no need for apologies.” Lan Xichen sighs, entering the gardens near his inn to escape the multitude and the background noise of distant conversations. Paper lanterns lead the path, but their warmth pales before the full moon washing the world in silver and white.

“What I said was wrong,” Nie Shengzai insists.

Lan Xichen’s lips curl. “Am I not considered a beauty now that you know who I am?”

For a hot minute, Nie Shengzai ponders if he’s messing with him or flirting. Probably the former. “I wouldn’t have voiced it out so blatantly, but I would still spend the night talking to you.” His voice lowers as if his words were forbidden. “No matter the title, you’re still stunningly beautiful.” Lan Xichen lets out a hearty laugh, hoping the darkness conceals the subtle blush on his cheeks. It has been a lifetime since anyone dared to speak to him so boldly.

“Mark your words, Young Master Nie,” Lan Xichen chides, but it doesn’t hinder the counterpart intentions.

“May I accompany you to your inn?” As he glimpses the grin on his face, Lan Xichen wonders who could refuse him.

“You may.”

Contented with his company, Nie Shengzai relaxes his stance and walks at his pace. “I’ve grown up listening to the tales of Chifeng-zun, but I also know about the feats of Zewu-jun,” he says. “So forgive me if I came forward too strongly.”

“You remind me of his younger self,” Lan Xichen says, and one glance at those brown eyes are enough to note he has taken it as a compliment. “Chifeng-zun was an outstanding cultivator, and the world owes him so much, I’ve done nothing but live by my sect rules.” Unconsciously, Lan Xichen slows down his pace as if reaching the inn pinpointed the end of their conversation.

“I have read all there is about the venerated triad,” Nie Shengzai says. “I wish I had gotten to know Chifeng-zun.”

“You’re far too young, but I’m sure Huaisang had a lot of stories to tell you about dage.”

Listening to the softness of his voice while referring to Nie Mingjue churns his stomach, and for a moment, he’s at a loss for words. Nie Shengzai has heard a myriad of stories about how Nie Mingjue was an example to follow and a caring -and mostly strict- big brother to his cousin. 

Anyone who knew him had for him a share of fear and a share of admiration, but Lan Xichen only has a whole lot of love. “Zewu-jun, you know if there were a chief cultivator it would be you, right?” Nie Shengzai asks. The books never mentioned why Jin Guangyao was chosen as head of the cultivation world and it always struck him as a weird choice the sects made. It was true that, back then, after Nie Mingjue’s death, and Jin Guangshan’s death, the Lanling Jin Sect was still the most powerful one, wanting to take after the infamous Qishan Wen Sect but feigning they pursued the opposite. Lan Xichen was clearly the best option. He belonged to the most righteously coded sect of all, and yet the Gusu Lan Sect relinquished its power in behalf of Lianfang-zun.

“I have no such ambitions, never have,” Lan Xichen answers, his eyebrows knitting slightly. Back then, they all trusted Jin Guangyao. He had been an example during the worst times of his sect and the war, he had a bond of sworn brothers with two powerful sect leaders and had a bright future even with his humble origins behind his back. Everyone trusted him except for Nie Mingjue, and everyone was indeed wrong to put so much faith in a seemingly innocent cultivator who deceitfully claimed not to pursue fame or glory. “We worked very hard to attain peace to ruin it all with another overambitious title for the sect leaders to covet.”

“I agree,” Nie Shengzai nods. “But you would be worth following, so would have been Chifeng-zun.”

“You are about to become Sect Leader, and there’s a big responsibility behind it besides hunting contests and leaving a legacy in the world and a mark on your disciples. Greediness can destroy a clan at the peak of success and turn their sect leader into a tyrant in the blink of an eye.”

“I seek no glory and I care nothing about subduing other sects.” Nie Shengzai chuckles. “But I will aim for perfection regarding my cultivation and my expertise in battle.” Such praiseworthy words for such a young man bring a smile to Lan Xichen’s lips. He’s not just a hand wielding a sword, but a smart cultivator who has educated himself in the history of the cultivation world; perhaps there’s Nie Huaisang to thank for that.  “My cousin saw that I knew these things for my own good, and I’ve always admired Chifeng-zun.”

“You take after him,” Lan Xichen says, lifting his gaze to the threshold of his inn and coincidentally, the end of their stroll. “And it’s not only because you look like him.” His eyes narrow, and Nie Shengzai endures his scrutinize with a smug grin on his face. “I’m sure Huaisang has told you.” 

Nie Shengzai nods.

For a moment, Lan Xichen feels like he’s gone back in time to when they had no worries besides training and night-hunting, when war hadn’t settled in the world and they were free and careless, living many nights like this together, or apart, but walking the same earth and in the same direction. “Now that you have arrived,” Nie Shengzai clears his throat. “Perhaps we can share a jar of wine and wait for the full moon to reflect on our cups?” His smile widens until it bares a row of white teeth.

“Alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen quips, arching a questioning eyebrow at him.

“So you’ve never tried wine,” Nie Shengzai teases.

The more he drowns into those familiar, gentle eyes, the more his heart aches. Lan Xichen smiles tenderly but climbs the first step toward the inn. He glances back at him. “Find yourself a prey you can catch, Young Master Nie.” Lan Xichen bites back a smile.

“Goodnight, Sect Leader Lan.” Nie Shengzai bows his head without losing his smile. He stands there, watching him enter the building and hoping to meet again soon. He removes the lid of the jar and downs a mouthful of wine. It’s the right amount of sweet and sour, and it trickles down his thirsty throat like a blessing. “But I already have,” he whispers, turning on his heels and walking back to the celebrations. The night is young, and so is he to fantasize about how to brush the sky with his fingertips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (/^▽^)/  
> I couldn't miss the chance to put jewelry on NHS, remembering Chapter 69 and how he was described (*≧▽≦) I can't believe I squeezed so many pairings in a single chapter lol xDD
> 
> See y'all next Friday! Does anybody feel like attending a Discussion Conference in Gusu? (˵¯̴͒ꇴ¯̴͒˵)
> 
> Notes:  
> Cassia/Osmanthus wine: reunion wine drunk in the Mooncake Festival (mid-autumn) [Wiki](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cassia_wine)  
> Food inspiration: [1](https://medium.com/@spoonhunt/10-foods-you-must-eat-for-mid-autumn-festival-53c15fcba2d9) [2](https://www.chinahighlights.com/travelguide/chinese-food/eight-cuisine.htm)  
> Chang'e and the Mooncake Festival: [Wiki](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mid-Autumn_Festival#Moon_worship)
> 
> I had to rename "you-know-who" xD (because inheriting a name is NOT a thing in China) It was hard because I have no beta and I couldn't find a Chinese native speaker to help me and guide me a bit. I spent a lot of time lurking through the net (and learned a lot, tbh), and after consulting a few of my friends and showing them my options, this one was the favorite so...
> 
> Courtesy name: Nie Shengzai / Niè shēngzài (to be born again) 聂生再 [1](https://chinese.yabla.com/chinese-english-pinyin-dictionary.php?define=sh%C4%93ng) [2](https://chinese.yabla.com/chinese-english-pinyin-dictionary.php?define=z%C3%A0i)  
> Birth name: Nie Wang / Niè Wàng (full moon) 聂望
> 
> PS: I had intended to add a short story about why he was given that birth name but it didn't make it into the fic. It was silly though, he was born in a full moon xDD But there's a story about his courtesy name...


	12. Chapter 12

Albeit a snowfall is more likely to happen closer to the new year, a humid winter has settled home in the Cloud Recesses. The sun seeps through the huangshan pines and the creek carries the icy waters from the snowy peaks and the cold spring. The same mist envelopes the place in ethereal clouds all year around, and every disciple wears a thick cloak over the shoulders to fight the low temperatures. Nevertheless, winters in Gusu are never too harsh or unbearable, just a few weeks of cold and perhaps a snowfall before the rains pour down constantly day and night until they wash away the frost.

Lan Xichen inhales the first-morning gust with a smile, the warmth of this morning tea lingering in his mouth. Today starts the Discussion Conference that is meant to last seven days. Preparations have been arranged in Gusu for the majority of the cultivators attending, and the sect leaders will stay at the main residence. While a disciple goes over the list of small details to cover, Lan Xichen listens carefully and walks toward the entrance of the Cloud Recesses to welcome the early comers. As Sect Leader, he could delegate the details of the lodgings and food to his subordinates, but he meant the promise he made to himself to get involved in the daily life of his sect and not let the years go by in seclusion. The last hunting contest at Phoenix Mountain was a wake-up call that showed him the world wouldn’t sit still for him and that he had caring friends and a family needing his company.

He hides his hands in his thick, velvety sleeves, protecting them from the cold, but his face reddens slightly at the wintry weather. Lan Xichen puffs white breaths into the air as he stops next to Lan Qiren. “Uncle,” he says, and he nods back at him. With his gaze lost in the stone stairs, he spots the first cultivators arriving at the Cloud Recesses. He wraps himself well in his coat, and between him and his uncle, they manage to remember every name and every face.

After an hour standing in the cold, Lan Xichen spots Nie Huaisang among the last group of cultivators. “Uncle, I will escort Sect Leader Nie to the main hall if you don’t mind.” He still remembers how Nie Huaisang’s face turns ashen in Lan Qiren’s presence, unable to forget the hardships of his youth as a Gusu Lan student.

“I can’t believe a Sect Leader never managed to pass the exam about family trees and old history of the cultivation world,” Lan Qiren scoffs.

“I think he never wanted to in the first place,” Lan Xichen quips.

Nie Huaisang trips on a stone step when he spots Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen talking. The blood drains from his face and he hesitates, dawdling his way to the top. His days here were equally joyful and unfortunate, the only thing keeping his nose buried in books was a mixture of fear and love for his big brother. Fortunately for him, Lan Xichen comes to the rescue and welcomes him personally. “Sect Leader Nie.” His smile is a relief.

“Sect Leader Lan,” he smiles back at him. More than a month has gone by since the hunting contest. “I had forgotten what a climb those stairs are.” A little breathless, he climbs the last one, glancing back as if he were looking for someone but giving up with a sigh.

“Meaning you should visit more often,” Lan Xichen says. They both walk abreast, nodding and bowing at the cultivators that recognize them on their way to the main hall. The conference is about to begin. Most of the people have already entered the building to take the best seats, something that doesn’t worry Nie Huaisang in the least.

Accustomed to Qinghe’s dry and cold winters, Nie Huaisang wears a thin, mink cape around his shoulders, his cheeks now flushed in pink and contrasting with the fairness of his skin. “How come Wanyin hasn’t come with?”

“My husband stayed in Lanling for a few days paying a visit to the twins. I’ll meet him on my way back because I doubt he’ll want to shorten his time with them to enjoy your conference,” Nie Huaisang jests, knowing Lan Xichen won’t take offense on Jiang Cheng’s absence.

“Understandable,” Lan Xichen says.

“But I didn’t come alone.” A sly smile pulls the corner of his mouth upward, and Lan Xichen frowns until a loud laugh behind grasps his attention.

Glancing over his shoulder, he finds Nie Shengzai mingling with Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi. The young master seems even bigger wrapped in a silver fox coat, standing out in the crowd with his impressive height. “They are so alike,” Lan Xichen mumbles, unable to sweep his gaze away. Nie Shengzai wears an elegant half top-knot worthy of a leader, and his cheeks are red probably because he’s too hot after the climb to be wearing such a thick coat. As if he was sensing someone looking at him, their gazes meet, and the polite smile that he had while he was talking to the others turns into an irresistible smirk just for him. His heart leaps.

Lan Xichen averts his gaze before he returns the smile. “They are, I said,” Nie Huaisang repeats, suppressing a chuckle. “Even the way he laughs.” Lan Xichen agrees with a nod.

Nie Shengzai and Nie Mingjue sport the same air, the same strong, tall presence that conquers a room the moment he enters. “But there’s cheerfulness in his eyes.” Lan Xichen chastises himself for wanting to turn around and catch another glimpse of that smug grin and brownish eyes.

“My cousin has known no war,” Nie Huaisang points out. “I noticed the awning resemblance when he was thirteen or fourteen. Not only because he trained himself to exhaustion since he was allowed to and wanted to know everything about the hero he worshiped since he was a child.” Sighing, he remembers how he’s partly guilty of that obsession, filling his mind with endless tales and stories about his big brother, the battles he came out victorious from, the good deeds, his sense of justice, his unmatched swordsmanship. No wonder the kid has always wanted to be like him. “Since he was very young everyone has told him how much he looks like my brother, but it’s more than a family resemblance, it’s…”

“… the way he talks,” Lan Xichen interrupts. “The way he moves, his smile -he pauses- the things we, who knew him well, see in him while others overlook.”

“If you had seen him duel against other cultivators…” Nie Huaisang says, taking a sidelong glance at Lan Xichen who struggles to stare ahead. “We shared the same father, dage and I, and I never looked like him or shared the same interests, but my cousin does inside and out.”

“He’s the spitting image of Chifeng-zun,” Lan Xichen whispers.

“For quite a while I thought he might…”

“Sect Leader Lan,” Nie Shengzai greets and Lan Xichen finds himself bracketed by Nie Huaisang and his cousin as they climb the short steps inside the main hall.

“Young Master Nie.” Lan Xichen turns about and swoons with delight at his smile, hoping to keep a straight face but unable to avert his gaze from those unnerving, familiar eyes. Nie Huaisang crosses the double doors, but when Lan Xichen lifts his foot to do the same, he trips under the threshold. He missed a step, and he never misses a step.

Lan Xichen stumbles, but a strong arm supports him. No one notices the slip. Before he curses his sloppiness, the arm underneath his own tightens, and he realizes his cold palm is over his, and that their fingers brush gingerly. Nie Shengzai’s hand is hot and rough, and the sensation sends a frisson through his spine. “Careful,” he whispers raspily with not a single intention of letting go just yet. His thumb traces the soft fabric of the long sleeves wrapping his wrist. He seeks skin but finds silk. Lan Xichen can feel his strength, his muscles flexing, his smile widening as he supports himself unnecessarily until they are inside along with the others.

But they have touched and nothing has changed. Lan Xichen stares at him, drowning into his eyes and hoping to find someone he does not. “Shall we?” Nie Shengzai says, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Thank you.” Lan Xichen nods, releasing the callous hand and the comfort of its warmth. It leaves a tingling behind as if a jolt of spiritual energy had gone through him. He clears his throat, aware that Nie Huaisang looks at him with an all-knowing smile and probably has glimpsed at the scene.

“Good move,” Nie Huaisang says discreetly while they find their bamboo seats at the front row. Somehow, a folding fan has found its way to his hand, and he uses it to cover his words and guide his voice. “Wanyin falls for it every time.” Lan Xichen sits by his side, swallowing a bitter taste in his mouth. He isn’t sure where it comes from. He glances back at Nie Shengzai who has stopped to greet a few cultivators, but his eyes always find him, and his heart thumps under his gaze.

“I had my suspicions, but I guess they were unfounded.” Lan Xichen meets Nie Huaisang’s eyes as he points with his chin at the hand that merely seconds ago was palm against palm with Nie Shengzai’s.

“I stopped waiting a long time ago,” Lan Xichen says, refusing to let his treacherous heart trick him only because a young member from the Nie family reminds him of Nie Mingjue. It’s madness, and suddenly he’s angry at himself and his naiveness.

“If you say so.” Nie Huaisang covers his sly smile with the puffiness of his mink coat.

The words sting, but when he’s about to retort an answer, Nie Shengzai sits beside him, their shoulders brushing over the many layers of garments, necessary even under a roof since the main hall is an opened space and the winter breeze seeps through the carved-in decorations. His presence makes him forget the brief exchange with Nie Huaisang, after all, there’s nothing to discuss if they have touched and nothing has happened. It was foolish of him to even try, but he will have time to dwell on it later.

“I understood you find Discussion Conferences uneventful and tedious,” Lan Xichen mentions under the murmurs of many conversations colliding one over the other as the remaining cultivators take their seats.

“I do,” Nie Shengzai confesses. “And I know for certain you haven’t attended one in five years.”

“Touché,” Lan Xichen mutters, his eyes fixed on the elderly cultivators arguing at the front resolving the last issues on who should continue after Lan Qiren’s speech. His uncle gives the opening speech and also closes the conference, and he sincerely hopes the length of his discourse isn’t over three hours as they used to be in his younger days.

“If I get bored,” Nie Shengzai whispers, leaning closer so he can hear him. “I can just stare at you.” Lan Xichen turns about, eyeing a nonchalant shrug. Before he gives in to the unasked praise, Lan Xichen shushes him. The silence spreads in the hall as the murmurs slowly die while Lan Qiren clears his throat and leads his speech off. But a half-smile creeps up his lips as he takes a peek at his side, finding again those warm, brown eyes glancing back at him.

After almost eight hours of conference, three of them courtesy of Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen is thankful for the walk outside as he stretches his legs. The sun is already low in the sky, the days shortened by the season, and the cold spikes at the gentle breeze battering the Cloud Recesses today. The main issue for the day went in depth about the healing properties of the Gusu Lan Clan compositions for the guqin and xiao. Even though the sects still keep their secret techniques and spiritual weapons, they share those which can be helpful to save lives. If a sect needs the healing properties of the guqin, they can request a Gusu disciple to aid them or even learn themselves studying here. Throughout the years, Lan Xichen has taught some outstanding disciples blessed with the gift of music from the Lanling Jin Sect and even the Qinghe Nie Sect.

A loud groan at his side takes him out of his reverie. Nie Shengzai stretches his back and neck, his eyebrows knit in a furrow of boredom and slumber. “Behave, A-Wang,” Nie Huaisang says, patting his back so he recovers his composure. “That was enlightening, but I need a book and a cup of wine before supper.”

“You’ll both have time to rest,” Lan Xichen says, beckoning Nie Huaisang to follow him to the guest residence assigned to him, conveniently avoiding the small groups of cultivators analyzing the conference. Upon seeing his cousin’s arrival, he arranged that they share the residence during their visit, and probably the disciples have already finished the preparations in their chambers.

“Xichen-ge, why don’t you show Shengzai around?” Nie Huaisang’s sly smile goes unnoticed by neither of them. “I’m sure he’d love a tour more than my company.” And with that suggestion, Nie Huaisang hustles inside his chambers and leaves them both stupefied standing next to each other.

After a deep sigh, Lan Xichen smiles politely. “If you want to wander on your own, I won’t tell.”

“I would never refuse Sect Leader Lan’s company.” His lips stretch in a grin at every word. “Show me the secrets of the Cloud Recesses.”

Unable to turn down his charming smile, Lan Xichen guides him back to the main cluster of buildings. They stroll through the gardens even though only the green grass adorns the place this time of year, the trees robbed of their flowers and some even their leaves. Fearful to come back to the main hall and get caught along with Nie Shengzai into a conversation between cultivators eager to see and speak to the sect leader, he took a detour behind the disciples’ dormitories and into the Orchid Room. They talked about the classes, the morning readings, and the famous Lan Qiren’s method to straighten up any bad apples. Nie Shengzai smiled and nodded all the way and even enjoyed the silence between them when they crossed the wooden bridge toward the Library Pavilion.

Surprisingly, his company is not as overwhelming as others. Lan Xichen usually aches to be alone after hours of socializing and enduring the endless conversations thrown his way with a smile and not a single complaint, but Nie Shengzai has made him forget the queasiness in his stomach and he just revels in the winter conquering the woods and the sight of the Library Pavilion at the end of the path. It reminds him how they struggled to save what’s inside, how they fought and resurfaced from their ashes.

“Your sect really rebuilt this place exactly the same?” The question surprises Lan Xichen, but Nie Shengzai has his gaze fixed on the library, trying to remember the details from an old drawing in an old book. “Can we go inside?” He beams at him, and Lan Xichen nods. “Is it true there’s a room of forbidden books you salvaged from the war?”

“You really meant for me to show you all the secrets of the Cloud Recesses?” Lan Xichen chuckles, but the young master has already crossed the threshold of the library.

“And yours if you may.” Nie Shengzai winks at him, and the tediousness he might have felt vanishes in the wintry breeze.

After spending a good hour talking about books and old scriptures, Lan Xichen leads him up the mountain, sauntering through stonework stairs and intricate paths to show him the entrance to the cold spring and the wall of rules. This characteristic landscape makes the Cloud Recesses famous and grants the place that heavenly aura. “How come you never studied here?” he asks, lingering in the shore of a cold lake filled with crystalline water. A cascade swooshes in the background as they speak.

“My cousin wanted me to, but I couldn’t see myself not training as I’m used to,” he explains, his foot tapping a stone into the icy waters. “I decided I would train in my sect and follow the old ways. There would always be time to enrich my knowledge with other sects.” Lan Xichen arches an eyebrow at him and Nie Shengzai snorts. “Fine, morning readings are not my cup of tea.”

“Routine soothes the mind and the soul,” Lan Xichen quips.

When he’s about to resume their stroll fearing the sunset catches them by surprise, Nie Shengzai lifts his chin pointing at the top of the waterfall. “What’s carved up there in the stone wall?”

“The rules of my sect,” Lan Xichen says. For the sake of their clothes and the cold of the winter, he avoided the path behind the cascade that trickles over the rules, he is even surprised he noticed them.

“How many are there?”

“Four thousand nineteen.”

Nie Shengzai glances back at him. “It can’t be! I knew there were a lot, or so my cousin told me when I was a kid. He used to tell me if I found the rule of not training at night unfair, I should visit the Gusu Lan Sect and live by their rules for a month.” Lan Xichen lets out a hearty chuckle.

“If you’re interested, I’m sure my uncle would be delighted to recite them to you, or even make you copy them,” Lan Xichen teases.

“Have I wronged you, Sect Leader Lan?” Nie Shengzai clutches a hand over his chest, but the half-smile on his lips vanishes all his pretenses and it only makes Lan Xichen’s smile widen.

“Shouldn’t you mingle with cultivators your age?” Lan Xichen resumes their walk while Nie Shengzai follows him dutifully.

“Rank or age?” Nie Shengzai is aware of the significance of The Sect Leader of Lan paying extra attention to a newcomer and suspects he does it because of the close relationship with his cousin. “Because what’s age when you can live forever?”

“Not forever,” Lan Xichen says. “But you should find a more suitable company.” After a life in seclusion, teaching disciples, and scarce amusements, Lan Xichen knows he’s not someone to be around and enjoy small talk. Not when his heart is so far away, he barely feels its beating.

“You break my heart, Sect Leader Lan, I thought you liked my company,” Nie Shengzai jokes.

“As if you knew what a broken heart is.” Lan Xichen chides. There’s no point in denying he finds being around him refreshing and oddly familiar. “I do enjoy your company.” He locks eyes with Nie Shengzai and a cheeky grin greets him. “Not so much your boldness,” he chides.

“Is there a rule up there about lying?” Nie Shengzai clears his throat when Lan Xichen casts an icy glare at him, but he’s betrayed by the withheld smile finding his way to his lips.

They leave the natural cascade behind and return to the main residence. The only noise in the forest is their steps on the ground and the occasional gust of wind shaking the branches of the trees. As expected, the sun is about to set and they should arrive on time for dinner.

“Sect Leader Lan,” Nie Shengzai calls, his eyebrows knitting tightly. “How was Chifeng-zun?”

“Haven’t you read all there is about him?”

“Yes, and about you,” Nie Shengzai hesitates. “But you know him better than anybody.”

“Because we were sworn brothers?” Lan Xichen takes a sidelong glance at Nie Shengzai and finds his cheeks flushed in pink.

“Yes, well,” he clears his throat. “And cultivation partners.”

“That’s not in any book that I know of,” Lan Xichen retorts, dreading his curiosity will be like a knife through his heart.

“Everyone knew, the rumors said…”

“Gossiping is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses.” 

Seeing he has overstepped his trust, Nie Shengzai nods and lowers his head after granting him a downcast glance as an apology. Lan Xichen takes a deep breath. Their steps tap on the wooden bridge, but he halts and swivels about, his hands resting on the railing as he stares at the clear water running underneath. Nie Shengzai stands beside him, close enough that he feels his comforting warmth. “How was him, you said?”

“Hm,” he nods.

“Nie Mingjue was warmer than the sun, sometimes overwhelming. On a bad day, you could burn yourself if stepping too close.” His mouth pulls upward inadvertently, but his eyes don’t smile. “His blood ran hot, and it showed in battle. He was ruthless, but always for a just cause. We all err sometimes, and he wasn’t good admitting his mistakes, but he was loyal to his ideals, true to his word, honest and faithful like no other. I admired him for it.” His lips part, a breath puffing into the air. The increasing darkness envelopes them as the sun hides behind the peak of the mountain. “No. I loved him for it.”

“At an early age, he lost his father and had to become a sect leader. That robbed him of a part of him that he never got back, and his heart darkened because of it. Hardships turned him stern and bitter, but he always had that smile for me even I didn’t deserve it.” Lan Xichen glances at Nie Shengzai who listens to him with wide-open eyes, and as expected, graces him with a reassuring smile, inviting him to go on.

“He knew how to command his men and how to be a good leader, but heavens if he was stubborn!” It had been a long time since he had spoken with someone about Nie Mingjue other than Nie Huaisang. “People feared him as much as they respected him, but there was nothing to fear about him, not really.”

“His temper?” Nie Shengzai remembers Nie Huaisang’s stories.

“Bold, paid of himself, proud to an annoying degree,” Lan Xichen sighs. “But I never feared his temper.”

“Because he loved you.”

“Because we understood each other. I miss him still.”

“I’m sorry I brought sad memories to the surface.” Nie Shengzai realizes how under his skin he has gotten with that question and doubts Lan Xichen would’ve granted the same answer to anyone else.

Lan Xichen swipes his gaze one last time over the creek and turns about to look at him as if he could find relief in his brown-colored eyes. “Nie Mingjue crosses my mind at least once a day for the past thirty years.”

“Then I am sorry I made you sad.” If those eyes stare at him a little longer they could warm his heart for the whole winter better than any bonfire. Lan Xichen has to dodge his heated glance and brush off his concerns as if they were nothing.

“You don’t know what a broken heart is, and you know no sadness is either. There was a time when I knew none of those too, and life had a funny way of lecturing me. But it’ll be kinder to you.” Lan Xichen mourns for the memories fading away and changing every time he relives them, fearful to reach a day when his hair is white and his mind foggy and he cannot see the sweet smile of Nie Mingjue in his mind anymore.

They cross the bridge and leave the gurgling of the water behind them. Nie Shengzai notes the gloomy atmosphere and dreads the sad end of their afternoon, so he stands before Lan Xichen with a mischievous smile. “Everybody says I’m taller than Chifeng-zun, what do you think?” Lan Xichen snorts faintly at his attempt to cheer him up. Seems like this youth is more transparent than the Cloud Recesses creeks.

“You’re definitely shorter,” Lan Xichen retorts.

“How come? I’m taller!” Nie Shengzai takes a step forward, standing just a few inches away from Lan Xichen as if they were comparing heights.

“No, you’re not,” Lan Xichen teases. He will never forget that standing face to face with Nie Mingjue he was at the perfect height to trap his lower lip between his own without their noses bumping awkwardly. It’s not that he can verify that now, even though his eyes linger for a moment in Nie Shengzai’s lips, that apparently, have lost the smug grin stretching them. “In fact, I believe you are half an inch shorter.” Or could it be than with just a step forward he could experience a gift from another life?

“Huh, still taller than you.” Nie Shengzai takes another step forward and the distance between them closens. Even though they don’t touch, Lan Xichen feels the warmth emanating from him. “S-sect Leader Lan.” He adds his formal title as if that would make up for his cheekiness. His Adam’s apple bobs, but then the first toll of the bell resounds loudly, startling them both. “What is that?”

“Supper. The bell announces the hour, the meals, and dictates our routine.” Lan Xichen walks past him and clears his throat, glancing back at the youth over his shoulder. His flowy garments billow in the wintry wind, adding a notch to his otherworldly appearance.

“It’s a bit early for dinner.”

“Curfew is at nine. We wake up at six.”

“Now it makes sense my cousin never insisted on me studying here,” Nie Shengzai scoffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧ What is it about the Cloud Recesses that make people fall in love? xDD
> 
> See y'all next Tuesday! ~ヾ(＾∇＾)
> 
> PS: I edited two times in which Jiang Cheng refers to Wei Wuxian as "his shidi" in his thoughts. Since he's younger it should be "shixiong". I chose to refer to him as "brother" instead <3 Thanks anon for the heads up! ヾ(｡･ω･)ｼ


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +100 kudos!! ٩(♡ε♡ )۶ Thank you so much to all of you still reading <3 This is another slightly longer chapter.  
> I know mdzs is low fantasy, but I let my imagination wander free in this fic so... I hope you like it c(＞ω＜)ゞ

The second day of the conference went by in a breath of time, but his obligations as Sect Leader prevented Lan Xichen to spend more time with Nie Shengzai. The Baling Ouyang Sect requested his help to summon a spirit using the horsetail whisk of the victim. Upon seeing his face of concern, Lan Xichen knew it was a serious matter. According to Ouyang Zizhen, a fortnight ago a cultivator of his sect disappeared after a night-hunt and the only thing left was his whisk. Although he was very discreet about it, Lan Xichen saw the painful stab through his heart as he narrated the sudden disappearance. Suspecting the fatal fate that had snatched him from his friend, Ouyang Zizhen searched the area day and night until they found his horsetail whisk and his sword.

The proof around the place indicated that a fiend had killed him and consumed his body, but the sect leader refused to believe he had consumed his soul too. The way he clutched the horsetail whisk until his knuckles were white broke Lan Xichen’s heart. Worried about his friend’s fate, they tried to call his soul several times through ordinary summoning ceremonies. They wouldn’t work, so he decided to ask for the Gusu Lan Sect’s help since their Evocation technique is the most effective.

Secluded in the watchtower along with the sect leader, Lan Xichen played Evocation until the soul manifested. Through Inquiry, they determined that the nature of his death had been, indeed, by a vicious fiend. During his night-hunt, he encountered the creature and fought for hours throughout the night, but when a group of walking corpses meddled in the combat, he had to share out his attacks between two fronts and, outnumbered, lost the fight and his life. If Wei Wuxian had been there, they would have known more about his circumstances through Empathy, but Ouyang Zizhen seemed devastated enough and the interrogation ended abruptly when Inquiry enlightened the facts. 

Not satisfied with his victory, the fiend consumed his body until there was nothing left, and cursed his victim’s soul, preventing him to manifest long enough to be liberated or suppressed. If Ouyang Zizhen hadn’t felt the need to investigate and bring justice to his friend, his soul would have roamed the world without end. But the curse wasn’t strong enough to refuse the calling of Evocation, much less with Lan Xichen plucking the strings of the guqin.

After many hours, his fingertips sore of playing the guqin, and his heart shrinking for Ouyang Zizhen, Lan Xichen teared up unavoidably at the tender-hearted farewell between the two. But he translated word by word the soul’s answers and sent the ones from the sect leader. He knows better than anyone what some last words can mean to give someone closure. They liberated his soul and granted him peace, and he saw himself reflected in Ouyang Zizhen when he smiled, clutching to his friend’s horsetail whisk for the last time. This rattled him from the inside out and brought to the surface feelings long hidden under his skin.

Lan Xichen offered the comfort he could and also offered help to hunt the fiend lurking their territory. The sect leader refused and said his people would take care of it and honor his friend’s tragic fate. Hence Lan Xichen spent the day and part of the night seized in the mingshi with Ouyang Zizhen. When he came back to his chambers, he had time for a quick supper and a bath thoughtfully arranged by Lan Sizhui.

But after a hard day, an easier one follows. The third day of the conference was a success. Lan Qiren was pleased by the issues addressed and the distribution of hunting rights in areas where many sects collided together. The only unfortunate part of his day was when he was forced to spend a whole afternoon at a tea house with several sect leaders. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t refuse the invitation even though Nie Huaisang offered a timely excuse to escape he should have taken. His sense of duty and obligations as a host wouldn’t allow it.

At the end of the fourth day, Ouyang Zizhen sent word that they had successfully eliminated the evil fiend. He thanked him again for his help in granting his friend’s soul peace and the chance to say farewell to him. 

Lan Xichen leaves the letter on the table, sipping the remnants of his lukewarm tea. The stroke of nine echoes in the Cloud Recesses while he tidies up the table and prepares for bed. Another day has gone by, and Nie Shengzai crosses his mind. They coincided briefly at the conference but had no real chance to talk. The reasons why he thinks about him in the lonely hours before going to bed escapes his reason. Right when he bites back a yawn, and he’s about to disrobe and prepare for bed, a subtle tapping at his door ties his eyebrows together.

Lan Xichen throws over his shoulders the outer robe he had just removed, heading to the entrance of his chambers. Another faint knock makes him sigh, expecting some kind of trouble or issue with the lodgings or the guests. No one would dare to disturb him past nine if it wasn’t an emergency. Upon opening the door, Lan Xichen stares unblinking at the unexpected visitor.

His smile widens dangerously as their eyes meet, and Lan Xichen speaks. “Did something happen?”

“How about the drink we never had?” Nie Shengzai lifts his arm and a jar of Emperor’s Smile dangles from his wrist. In his hand, he cradles two white, ceramic cups. His smile, a temptation hard to refuse.

“Alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen quips, arching a questioning eyebrow at the display. If Lan Wangji could see him right now, he’d probably hum at his brother’s answer and would advise him to proceed otherwise.

“I can drink, you can talk,” Nie Shengzai jests, but when Lan Xichen’s furrow deepens, he clears his throat and hides the jar behind his back. “The wine is an excuse for your company.”

“Why would you need an excuse for…” Lan Xichen sighs, trying not to yield to that smirk that awakens so many sweet memories no longer at his reach. He’s been busy, and somehow, he suspects Nie Shengzai looks up to him. He exhales a deep breath.

“Can I have the pleasure of your company?”

“Those who leave the Cloud Recesses after curfew won’t be allowed back until morning.”

“Does that mean I’ll have you all night for myself?” Nie Shengzai retorts, a charming smile stretching his lips and reaching his eyes. 

In another life, Lan Xichen would have laughed and followed him as he once followed Nie Mingjue when he appeared at his door with a similar petition. He carried a bottle of strong liquor from Qinghe, took his hand and walked him out without asking. He sported the same, smug grin and glittering eyes that Nie Shengzai does tonight. But they were young, and in love, and he will never get him back.

Gathering all the self-control he can muster, Lan Xichen bites back a smile to halt his advances. “Shengzai,” he says. “You come to my rooms after curfew, with a jar of wine, who do you think I am?”

“A friend?” He gives an insouciant shrug. “Who happens to be a sect leader, but I don’t think that prevents you from having friends, does it?”

“You are incorrigible,” Lan Xichen chastises.

“If your answer is no, I can leave.” Lan Xichen sighs, staring at him with eyebrows knit in concern. His eyes are sad because this arrives a lifetime late, he already had his fair share of adventures and lost it to fate. No matter how endearing and sweet Nie Shengzai is, his heart will always be waiting for Nie Mingjue. The youth deserves better than a bitter heart shielded from the world. “Is your silence a negative?” The spark of hope vanishes from his eyes, and Nie Shengzai straightens his back and bows his head politely. “I apologize. It wasn’t my place to come here and it won’t happen again.” A brief smile marks his words as if the defeat had shattered his heart, but he was still proud to have tried his luck tonight.

As he turns on his heels and leaves, Lan Xichen closes the wooden doors of the hanshi. With one last glance at the moon and a sigh, he inches his way toward him. “You lead the way,” he relinquishes, and he swears Nie Shengzai’s smile under the moonlight has pierced right through his heart. In a few days, he will be gone and his life will be again an endless succession of days thinking about him; about Nie Mingjue, he corrects himself in his mind.

At least in his company, he can get a glimpse of Nie Mingjue’s smile even though it belongs to someone else. Someone who smiles unabashed of the consequences, with no hidden purpose or intentions. Even if it’s selfish and a terrible idea, Lan Xichen succumbs for a bittersweet taste of the past. “I found a place underneath a tree where you can listen to the creek and watch the stars,” Nie Shengzai promises. “You’ve been busy, but I had time to lurk around your home.”

The darkness conceals their figures as they exit the Cloud Recesses and stroll through the woods. As promised, in a clearing near the creek, there is a rock sheltered by an ancient huangshan pine. There they sit, Lan Xichen’s posture straight and proper as he watches how Nie Shengzai huddles both cups in his big hand. He offers him a full one with a shy smile he had never seen until now. A frisson runs through his spine, and he remembers the coat he has left behind in the hanshi and how the cold of the wintry night seeps through his bones.

“I won’t tell,” Nie Shengzai says when Lan Xichen takes the cup and stares at it. The moon reflects in the almost see-through liquid.

“It’s not the first time I transgress this rule,” Lan Xichen quips, lifting his eyes to admire a waning moon smiling at him.

Nie Shengzai rests his foot on the rock, his arm hanging from his knee, his chin in the hollow of his elbow. As a pregnant silence grows comfortable between them, he wonders if his cousin is right and he doesn’t think about the consequences before acting. He just invited a prominent Sect Leader to share his time with him when they barely know each other. This could have been a great offense or the start of a friendship. As he takes a sidelong glance at Lan Xichen’s pristine beauty under the moonlight, he wishes for the latter.

“And when was that?” Nie Shengzai asks, his voice mingling with the gentle swooshing of the creek.

A sad smile conquers Lan Xichen’s lips at the question. “Chifeng-zun,” he says, taking a deep breath to bear the memories invading his mind. He sips his wine, his gaze lifted at the starry sky, his heart beating as it did back then. “He wouldn’t take a no for an answer, saying I was missing out and snatched me from my chambers to share a bottle of liquor.” The subtle half-smile in Nie Shengzai goes unnoticed except for the omniscient moon. “Dage always had a way to make me try new things, to get me out of the comfort of my life and out into the world.”

“It all started with a sip of rice wine?”

“And a laugh, and a smile, and a stolen kiss,” Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Enough about me, tell me about you.”

“I have done nothing remarkable.” Nie Shengzai downs the cup of wine and pours another.

“Ranking first of your sect and winning a hunting competition the year of your debut is nothing to you?” Lan Xichen flicks his gaze at him, and if it wasn’t so dark, he would have seen him blush.

“It was expected of me,” Nie Shengzai says.

“I suspect no one but yourself put those expectations over your shoulders.”

“I’ve lived all my life looking up to Chifeng-zun,” he says. “The tales of how he fought in the war, the battles he won, how he was feared by his enemies and respected by his allies.” Nie Shengzai sighs.

“It’s a big shadow to grow underneath,” Lan Xichen sips his wine. “Chifeng-zun did what he had to do to survive in times of war; what anyone would have done in his place, and yet being a hero and a high-ranked cultivator didn’t spare him of a tragic end. Not even all the glory you seek following his steps could save him.”

“My cousin has told me all the stories about him he remembers.” Nie Shengzai hesitates for a moment because he knows things he shouldn’t and made an oath to never share them with someone else. Even if that someone is involved. He could get into trouble with Nie Huaisang. “I used to tell him I would find Baxia and wield it myself, that I’d be just like Nie Mingjue.”

“Baxia…” Lan Xichen hums as he finishes his cup of wine and stares at the bottom of the cup. It’s been so long he has forgotten the saber is still trapped with Jin Guangyao underneath a mountain and that nobody has gotten close or has checked the area ever since.

“I heard it was an outstanding weapon that shone in the blood of their enemies, so strong it could split a rock in half by the strength of Chifeng-zun’s arms.”

“It was a powerful weapon, hosting a fickle spirit that only behaved by Nie Mingjue’s standards.” Lan Xichen beckons him to serve him more wine while he remembers the first time he fought against Baxia and felt the true power beneath it.

The war was ending at its own leisurely pace, Jin Guangyao had been undercover for years in the Sun Palace and told him to wait for him at the frontier of Qishan. Lan Xichen had just received the news of Nie Mingjue being held captive by Wen Ruohan. He and his army launched a surprise attack at the Nightless City, but the leftovers of Wen Ruohan’s army in full were waiting for them. It was a minor hit for the outcome of the war, but Lan Xichen felt his world crumble below his feet.

They had just seen each other a few days ago, he had given him the information necessary for the attack, and guilt churned his stomach. Later on, he found out Jin Guangyao had been feeding him the information, and many years later he realized it all had been a trap; a very meticulously calculated plot to pretend he had saved Nie Mingjue’s life and get some kind of redemption from it. It worked for everyone else. Jin Guangyao became a war hero, he had killed Wen Ruohan and saved Nie Mingjue, ending the war. Jin Guangshan even adopted him as his son afterward. It all played in his favor.

But Nie Mingjue didn’t buy his act. When everything Lan Xichen wanted was to crush into his arms and heal his wounds, an injured Jin Guangyao terrified by the lunges of Baxia hid behind him while Nie Mingjue, injured, defeated, and bleeding from his qiao could only seek retaliation and lifted his saber against them.

Shuoyue trembled under his blade, stopping his advances and protecting the man supposedly responsible for returning the love of his life to his arms. But Nie Mingjue saw red, relinquishing not an inch of ground, his eyes unblinkingly fixed on Jin Guangyao. Lan Xichen’s words seemed not to reach him, and he felt helpless and heartbroken. He couldn’t understand where did all that rage come from. Why was he holding so much spite against Jin Guangyao when he had just saved his life? Lan Xichen tried to reason with him justifying Jin Guangyao’s actions because he truly believed in him back then. It exhausted a weakened Nie Mingjue, and he saw with his own eyes how he controlled Baxia’s killing intent and split a rock in two instead of murdering Jin Guangyao.

Lan Xichen was despondent by what he had just witnessed, and only after helping him heal his wounds and ease his mind, he was able to find kindness in his eyes. Who would’ve thought after the events they would become sworn brothers with Jin Guangyao? It seemed like a good idea back then, it would help them reconcile, became closer, forgive and forget past grudges and the gruesomeness of war. Nothing farther than the truth. Nie Mingjue could never let go of Jin Guangyao’s crimes past or present, and the ceremony was the beginning of their end.

Realizing he has been silent for longer than expected and that Nie Shengzai looks at him with a puzzled expression, he continues: “Nie Mingjue wielded Baxia, but the saber spirit knew all the truths of his heart and his soul and magnified them tenfold.” He pauses, meeting Nie Shengzai’s eyes as he continues to feed his mind with tales of someone no longer among them. “Which can be useful in the heat of the battle, but can also blind your heart and damage your golden core,” Lan Xichen explains.

“I could tame the saber spirit,” Nie Shengzai scoffs, and downs another cup of wine.

“No, you would not.” Lan Xichen arches an eyebrow at him. “No one could after Nie Mingjue’s death and no one will.” He shivers under a gust of wind, savoring the heady taste of wine lingering in his mouth. There was a time when he was younger and a sip of rice wine would have been enough to make him play his xiao for the stars and the night sky, but he lost the taste for it when Nie Mingjue died.

“Where is it?” Nie Shengzai asks, turning about to behold him, bored with the creek and the moon and finding Lan Xichen’s peerless beauty more suitable for his eyes. “Where is Baxia now?”

His eyebrows knit slightly as their gazes meet. He ponders what to answer to that question that shouldn’t be a question to any cultivator. Everyone knows Baxia is probably well kept in a treasure room of the Unclean Realm, someone of the Qinghe Nie Sect might believe Baxia lays in their Ancestors’ Burial Grounds, but only someone with more knowledge than they reveal would ask about the whereabouts of the saber. “You know all too well where it is,” Lan Xichen retorts and notes Nie Shengzai’s Adam’s apple bob at his words. “If Huaisang has chosen you as your successor you ought to know, and if you don’t, he will brief you in when the time comes.”

Nie Shengzai realizes he has underestimated Lan Xichen and a half-smile curls the corner of his mouth upward. “I know a tale of a mountain and two stone beasts guarding a coffin,” he says in a raspy whisper, but Lan Xichen’s expression remains emotionless, his dark eyes piercing his soul. “The tale of a group of cultivators determined to do right by what had been wronged in the past.”

Lan Xichen gives a faint snort. Twenty years is a long time to keep a secret, but he’s aware he will have to pass on this secret too to the next sect leader of the Gusu Lan Sect when the time comes. Truth is, Jin Guangyao is still a menace even if his fierce corpse has been suppressed by Baxia. “And you want another version of the tale?”

“No, if it means I overstep your trust.” Nie Shengzai’s words surprise him. A youth of barely twenty years old who already understands the hardships of a sect leader and how to keep a secret buried by all of them. “I trust my cousin will let me know what I need once I become the sect leader.”

“You have assumed your role already,” Lan Xichen says and Nie Shengzai chuckles distractedly, filling up their cups.

“Am I not destined to fulfill that fate since I was born?” Nie Shengzai snorts. “Why did everyone tell me I would since I was ten? Why did my cousin take such an interest in me and my education? They brought me up for this and I am honored to oblige.”

“Out of respect, I won’t discuss that old _tale_ with you.” Lan Xichen sips his wine while he hesitates how to continue. “Not that I wouldn’t, I just believe it is not the time nor my place if you haven’t had this conversation with Huaisang first.” He never considered he would be discussing the events of that night with anyone. None of the cultivators involved ever mentioned again what they went through or the risks they took. It is a secret most will take to their graves if they are able to live a hundred years more to see by themselves that the menace has been completely eliminated. Deep inside, Lan Xichen hopes to never climb those stairs ever again nor to face his sworn brother’s evil eyes trying to steal from him all he holds dear in this life.

“Just tell me one thing,” Nie Shengzai asks, his sharp, brown eyes brimming with the effects of the alcohol. Lan Xichen nods. “Are you happy knowing his soul will be able to reincarnate and come back to the mortal world?” Nie Huaisang won’t be mad if he slips what he knows in front of Lan Xichen, or so he hopes.

Lan Xichen smiles at the childish question. Seems like Nie Shengzai knows all too well what happened that night. “It gave me closure, and I felt peace when, after being wronged the way he was, his soul was complete and unspoiled by all the resentful energy that would’ve shattered a lesser cultivator.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Happiness is not something I aspire to attain.” Lan Xichen finishes the wine, averting his gaze to stare at the cold, lonely moon that seems to laugh at him and his fate in nights like this. Nie Shengzai parts his lips to speak, but Lan Xichen interrupts him. “Don’t understand my silence about what happened to Chifeng-zun as mistrust. Huaisang trusts you, and I trust you will be a remarkable sect leader.”

“I would never…”

“You respect Chifeng-zun’s memory and admire him wholeheartedly,” Lan Xichen says, turning about to look at him and give back the empty cup. He’s had enough wine for a year. “And I believe you also respect me, that’s why I share my ordeals with you and I have with no one else.”

“I profess a lot more than respect for you, Zewu-jun.” Nie Shengzai swallows a lump in his throat, his suddenly clammy hands threatening to drop the ceramic cups he holds, but the amused smile stretching Lan Xichen’s lips takes all his worries away. He’s probably not the only one to crave his company and fall for his elegant figure and undeniable beauty; he won’t be the last either, and none will be able to compete with Nie Mingjue. Under the cold breeze of the night, he feels his cheeks warm and tinged in pink.

“And yet you still deflected the conversation,” Lan Xichen chides. “Tell me about you.”

Nie Shengzai exhales a nervous chuckle, leaving the cups behind him, and taking a long, mouthful of wine from the jar itself. “I could tell you why my courtesy name is Shengzai,” he says, a playful smirk returning to his face. Lan Xichen cannot help but think that it belongs there and nowhere else.

“Who gave it to you?”

“My father,” he says with a sad smile, and Lan Xichen guesses what he’s about to say next. “He died of a qi deviation two years ago.” As hard as Nie Huaisang has tried to abolish the old saber ways, the oldest cultivators refuse to use Wei Wuxian’s runes to help with the saber spirits. Their chances of undergoing a qi deviation or other ailments stirred up by the resentful energy invading them through their own weapons were still high.

Nie Shengzai’s hand reaches for the hilt of his saber, his thumb tracing the daintily engraved decorations that act as an array to contain the excessive resentful energy. A saber spirit demands blood from the lack of prey or because has been excessively fed and takes it on the cultivator. He is aware this kind of restriction hinders his own strength when dueling with other spiritual weapons, but it doesn’t interfere with his prowess in battle. His cousin didn’t let room for discussion, he told him to use this saber or a conventional spiritual sword. He could hone his skills and outshine everyone with his cultivation but he wouldn’t allow his kin to die the same way his brother and father did.

“I am sorry for your loss.” Nie Shengzai thanks him with a nod, taking a deep breath to continue with the story.

“I was around sixteen and we were hunting in the holy mountains at the north end of Qinghe,” he explains. “There were rumors of a dragon roaming the area, but not a conventional dragon who has cultivated enough to turn into a powerful creature, I had a hunch that it could be one of the nine sons of the Dragon King.”

“Those haven’t been seen for centuries,” Lan Xichen says, suddenly caught up with the story.

“That’s why I chose five of the greatest cultivators in my sect and headed to the mountain. If there was a chance of fighting the Yazi, I wanted to be the one to do it.” After another gulp of wine, Nie Shengzai continues. “We explored every side of the mountain and fought several monsters and creatures we couldn’t even dream finding elsewhere, but there was no trace of the Yazi. The day we were coming back home, I saw strange tracks in the ground and I strayed too far from my group following them.”

“Reckless,” Lan Xichen says with the hint of a smile.

“But I found the Yazi. It was two men tall, its fur a mixture of fiery colors. His body was the one of a leopard but the head the one of a dragon, glided scales riveting its neck, long fangs protruding from his mouth, and a long tail. I had never seen a creature more out of this world than this one, calmly drinking water from a natural creek while I was there, bedazzled by its beauty and forgetting my desires to fight it.”

“What happened then?” Lan Xichen has been lucky enough in his span of life to see deities, mutant creatures, gods, and dragons, so he knows the excitement that had rushed through Nie Shengzai’s veins.

“Then the Yazi noticed my presence,” Nie Shengzai chuckles. “I had time to unsheathe my saber and repel the first attack of that powerful jaw before its tail threw me over and I bit the dust. It was like a wake-up call, there wouldn’t be another chance, and I knew I had to come back home.” Even now Nie Shengzai gets goosebumps and his stomach clenches when he remembers the fear that had coursed through him when they started fighting. “I used a flare to call for my team, and I even tried to yield ground to disengage, but I realized the dragon had formed a barrier around us.”

“Dragons are conceited creatures, and this one seemed determined to fight you,” Lan Xichen says and Nie Shengzai nods.

“The Yazi had been my prey all along, but at that moment, I realized I was his prey too and the only way to break that barrier would be to defeat him in head-to-head combat,” Nie Shengzai says. “To be honest, I remember little of what happened afterward, only that I fought with all I had and that my only chance of coming out of there victorious would be to pierce all his three dragon hearts.”

“Did you?”

Nie Shengzai shakes his head. “Only one. We had been fighting for three days and three nights and I had already made up my mind that I would die in that mountain and be devoured by beasts. I thought myself a decent cultivator, but I realized I had a long way ahead of me to reach my full potential, and that I would waste it in here. I made peace with it, but I was tired, low on spiritual energy, I hadn’t eaten, and I was injured.” Nie Shengzai shrugs his mink coat off, his hand removing the collars of his uniform.

Lan Xichen sees the still slightly pink dots of the scar of two fangs that positively pierced through his left shoulder, and he guesses there’s a mirrored pair of scars on his back. “Those will not fade.” The longest fangs of the dragon had tasted his flesh and his blood.

“And I wear them with pride. The Yazi gnawed my left shoulder, and I thought it was going to tear off my arm for good, but that’s when I pierced his heart with my saber,” he says. “I can still hear the loud shriek ringing in my ears.” He empties the jar of wine in a long gulp and exhales a pleasant hum at the sweet taste of Emperor’s Smile trickling down his throat. “At the dawn of the fourth day our fight had turned into angry glares and sloppy attacks, but neither of us would yield or make a foul move. At that point, I was waiting for the dragon to die or let me go, but judging by the amount of blood I was losing, I would be the one unconscious and dying.”

“If you had surrendered, the Yazi would have finished you,” Lan Xichen says, knowing dragons value respect and courage. Perhaps at first, the Yazi thought Nie Shengzai was his prey, but he soon realized he was his opponent.

“I did not, and so the dragon spoke to me.” Nie Shengzai remembers he almost dies of a fright when his jaw moved in unison with a raspy, deep voice. “The Yazi offered me a truce, and I could only nod and lower my saber which was as heavy as a trunk by then.” Nie Shengzai chuckles. “The barrier went down, and I will never forget how his eyes gleamed as if a fire was burning behind them. I could feel them scrutinizing my soul. He spoke again, some words I will never forget but that I will never understand either.”

Lan Xichen drowns into his eyes, listening to the story so wide-awake no one would’ve thought mere hours ago he was yawning and ready to slide into bed. “What did the Yazi say?”

“I have told no one, but…” Nie Shengzai hesitates as if saying the words out loud would change the outcome, but Lan Xichen’s deep eyes, eager to know more bring a lazy smile to his lips. “ _You will not slay as many enemies as you did in your past life, but you will enjoy something more precious than glory, gold, or recognition_.”

Lan Xichen sighs, realizing one’s soul is forever lurking the earth and rarely ascending to heaven, but the wise words of an ancient dragon are not to take lightly. “What would that be?” he wryly says, realizing, for a young cultivator, perhaps those are the things one pursues the most, but for someone like him who has lived so many years and has dedicated himself to cultivation, those mean nothing. He would trade all his deeds if that would bring him back.

“He wouldn’t tell me,” Nie Shengzai mumbles. “But that’s not all.” He wets his lips with a flick of his tongue and Lan Xichen’s heart skips a beat at the familiarity of the gesture. If he sees another mannerism from Nie Mingjue in Nie Shengzai, he might melt in the spot. “A sword materialized in his mouth and the Yazi dropped it at my feet. It was a long saber with a gold and red scabbard. The hilt was like a tail, thicker at the handle, thinner at the end, slightly curved like the blade itself. The guard was the head of a dragon, its mouth opened, its teeth gnawing at the scabbard.” Nie Shengzai sighs. “The most enthralling weapon I have ever seen, worthy of a holy forge and a true blacksmith. He said I could take this in exchange for his life and peace upon his mountain, and I promised no one from my sect will ever seek prey there ever again.”

“You own a holy weapon?” Lan Xichen hides his surprise but a half-smile stretches his lips.

“But I haven’t been able to unsheathe it,” Nie Shengzai says in disappointment.

“How come?”

“The Yazi said I would wield it when I was ready,” Nie Shengzai says. He remembers he agreed to the Yazi’s terms and attached the sword to his sash, not minding his words. He never tried to draw the blade until he came back home and he confirmed the dragon hadn’t lied. It was a disappointment to see such an outstanding spiritual weapon exposed in the wall of his room while he was unable to wield it. Up to this day, he believes he’s unworthy of it. “I haven’t been able to name it either and there are no engravings in the hilt.” Nie Shengzai sighs. “I try now and then, maybe the name is engraved on the blade.”

Upon seeing his downcast air, Lan Xichen chuckles. “You just need to cultivate for a few more years until you reach your full potential, it’s still a unique affair that you were able to seize such a powerful sword at such a young age.” The worrisome furrow between his eyebrows disappears, and the smug grin finds his way back to his lips. “But you haven’t finished your story, Shengzai.”

“I retraced my steps limping, with an extra saber to carry and by how much blood I was losing, I knew I wouldn’t last another night lost in the forest,” he explains. “But when I reached the foot of the mountain, I came across my father, my cousin, and a group of cultivators from my sect.”

“They went looking for you.”

“Everyone thought I was dead, and they still came for me or my corpse. I only know my father held me so tightly I couldn’t even breathe and my cousin hit me with his fan all the way back,” he chuckles. “But when we crossed the threshold of the Unclean Realm, my father looked at me and told me that holding me after believing me dead was like cradling me again into his arms the day I was born.”

“Shengzai, to be born again,” Lan Xichen murmurs as if he could imagine how his father felt that night. The future sect leader dead, the future of their family and their clan. They got him back. Nie Shengzai nods, his cheeks flushed by the wine, his hair billowing in the nightly breeze, and his smile wider than the waning moon that witnesses their conversation. “You have gifted me a story, let me gift you a song.”

Ignoring the rules of his sect, Liebing touches his lips and the most enrapturing shrill pierces the night. Its tunefulness catches Nie Shengzai by surprise, his smile vanishes, his eyes fixed on Lan Xichen’s slender fingers moving as the melody escapes the xiao and joins the breeze. A warmth grows in his heart, one he had never sensed before but awfully familiar. He dives in a feeling of déjà vu that lingers in his mind at every note Lan Xichen plays, refusing to let go or enlighten him either. He should be sad listening to the unknown melody that reaches his ears for the first time in his life, but his heart drowns in an unfamiliar sensation of homesickness; as if this wasn’t the first time Liebing seeps through his ears; as if he should find a name to what he’s experiencing, but it is like a distant memory long forgotten or never registered.

As if they were no longer in the earth and had ascended to the highest of heavens, Nie Shengzai swoons with delight at Lan Xichen, unable to avert his gaze from the long strands of hair fluttering in the wind, his half-closed lids revealing long, feathery lashes that seem wet somehow. His breath seizes, trying to hold this moment in time for longer than it lasts.

Nie Shengzai wants to lift his hand and reach out for him, but he also fears upon doing so, Lan Xichen would disappear into thin air as an enrapturing vision product of his imagination and nothing else. What right does he have to want what he will never attain? What is he but a cultivator lucky enough to share his company? And with that sad thought, the song ends and Lan Xichen returns Liebing to his sash and smiles at him.

“That was beautiful and sad,” Nie Shengzai mumbles. “Are those the melodies you yearn to play?” A gust of wind washes over them, reminding them the night has settled to stay for many more hours. Primly, Nie Shengzai places his coat over Lan Xichen’s shoulders.

“I’m not cold,” Lan Xichen says, snuggling into the silver fox coat more for the lingering scent in it than the warmth it provides, and also ignoring the question about how he has let his emotions seep outside through his music.

“I’m not cold either,” Nie Shengzai stands, offering an unneeded hand to Lan Xichen. He takes it, assuming the end of their nightly adventure. “You smile often,” he says, his eyes riveting the thin line of his lips. “But it’s not there behind your eyes, where it should.” Their gazes meet and Lan Xichen loses the polite smile that masks the grief still ruling his heart in nights like this. “One day I’ll steal a real smile from you, one you won’t be able to hide,” he whispers.

Lan Xichen cups his face with a cold, gentle hand, surprising the youth. Sadness invades him whenever he touches him and he finds Nie Mingjue in his eyes but nothing else. He doesn’t see the spark of love behind his eyes. Nie Shengzai may be the spitting image of him but doesn’t look at him knowing every piece of his soul and his body like the back of his hand. And he never will. “Are you used to take what you want, Shengzai?”

“Sometimes, when what I want should be mine.” The wine lets his tongue loose, and even though he will regret those words in the morning, he says them nonetheless. He cannot claim a cultivator like Lan Xichen who belongs in heaven and not the earth. He cannot even dare to want him, he’s not there to succumb to his sloppy advances because he’s waiting for someone that won’t return. His one true love.

“Arrogance will lead you nowhere.” Lan Xichen strokes his warmed-up cheek once more before he links his arm around his and beckons him to start walking.

“Are you sure? Because so far, it’s leading me back to your rooms.”

“And you’ve drunk too much wine,” Lan Xichen chastises, turning about to see a charming smile that stretches unabashedly in his lips.

“That may be right,” Nie Shengzai chuckles, dreading every step they take means their night is over and he won’t have the courage or the chance to snatch the sect leader’s company again. Only two more days before he has to come back to Qinghe, only two days to get over what he feels. The Cloud Recesses is oddly familiar when it shouldn’t, even his company comes so easy he craves it every day.

Arm-in-arm, they retrace their steps back to the residence. As they approach the hanshi, Nie Shengzai realizes he sports a dopey smile product of the wine and his wishful thinking, and Lan Xichen notes it. “You know your smile is more dangerous than your saber?” Lan Xichen quips.

“No.” A withheld smile breaks free on his lips.

Lan Xichen gives back the coat but his warmth lingers in him for the rest of the night, and as he falls asleep, he swears Nie Mingjue’s familiar scent has intoxicated his senses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (ノ^∇^)  
> Isn't Nie Shengzai a charmer? xDDD Lan Xichen, stop resisting!! xDD
> 
> PS: I'm sorry about the angsty story at the beginning, I don't know what possessed me when I wrote it xD
> 
> Notes:  
> Yazi (睚眦) – looks like a hybrid of a dragon and leopard. Known for its bad temper and love of fighting. [1](https://immortalmountain.wordpress.com/glossary/chinese-bestiary/)


	14. Chapter 14

The warmth of his lips contrasts with the wintry cold of the night. Their breaths meld together in a white puff and a shower of snowflakes starts falling around them. Upon meeting him, Nie Shengzai realized he’s undeserving of him, and yet he longs for the sweet, savory taste of his lips as if he knew what wonders they hide.

Standing in the threshold of the hanshi, Lan Xichen still as a jade statue, graces him with deep, dark eyes and an unruffled smile. The mink coat drapes down his shoulders in slow motion and pools at their feet, and Nie Shengzai unconsciously wraps both arms around his waist. He’s a heartbeat away to yield, and taste, and bite him to his heart’s content. Lan Xichen mouths a word that doesn’t reach his ears but goads him to lean down and press their lips together.

He recognizes the velvety softness of his lips, the subtle warmth, and love that bumps into his impatient mouth. Lan Xichen belongs with him, and he hugs him closer, possessively. As if they hadn’t seen each other in a century when they have just spent the night sharing a jar of wine and a blue streak of memories. They now belong to both and not just themselves. Every tidbit about him is like a treasure; a precious gift to ingrain in his memory and store in his heart. But suddenly, the oh-so-called warmth of his mouth vanishes, the snowflakes freeze in the air, and a word resounds in his mind: _dage_ ; by his lips, in his voice. But he’s alone, surrounded by winter and darkness.

“Not yet,” Nie Shengzai grunts, tangled in his own mussed sheets, his face buried in the pillow. Similar dreams have haunted him for years. Dreams about an otherworldly man in white claiming his mouth and calling him by another name. He always wakes up when his tongue tastes his lips, but now the man of his dreams has very recognizable features. Nie Shengzai groans again, cursing his improper brain and his morning wood. 

As he awakens, there’s a bitter taste in his mouth. The first time he dreamed about Lan Xichen was the night of the hunting contest, and since then, his treacherous mind has gifted him a myriad of different kisses. Stolen, soft, tender, harsh, ruthless, all bite and tongue, but he always wakes up with a feeling of déjà vu tainting his mind, blurring the thin line between a dream and a memory, with the bittersweet taste that the only name that leaves his lips is the one of the man he will never surpass.

He shouldn’t be having these dreams, not starred by Lan Xichen anyhow. He shouldn’t feel like this about him, but he does, and it kills him how he’s digging his own grave. There’s something about him that draws him to seek his company, to know more about him. He feels as if he were with an old friend and not someone he met a few weeks ago.

But still wrapped in the sheets and tempted to linger in bed, Nie Shengzai can only think about how he should have kissed him last night, or tried at least. He felt it, the way their gazes lingered in each other, the way Lan Xichen shrugged his coat off and smiled at him as he returned it. Their hands brushed again, and a spark tingled his skin. Nie Shengzai sighs and rolls on his back, now wide-awake by his own rambling mind. The taste of wine persists in his dried-up mouth. He straightens in the bed to free himself of its comfort and the dream that has turned into daydreaming all too soon.

“I need to cool off,” he mumbles. Near the bed, he finds a basin with cold water and washes his face. He fell asleep thinking about Lan Xichen and woke up dreaming about him. His cousin would chide him for his unseemly crush -if he knew- It’s better to keep him in the dark because as much as he’d want to, this isn’t happening. “What’s wrong with me?” he curses, stretching sore muscles from the lack of training.

Coming here seemed like a good idea, he will need to attend many Discussion Conferences once he’s sect leader, but the real reason hides deep in his heart. He needed to see him again, to get to know better the glimpse of the man he saw when they met behind the always courteous sect leader that everyone praises and admires. To be honest with himself, his interest in Lan Xichen grew wild since he knew about his past relationship with Nie Mingjue. Who was the person that had enamored a man with a steel-hard heart and no more interests than war, training, and cultivation? It was foolish of him to seek an obsession, a far-fetched love that didn’t belong to him. He was hoping to be disappointed by the so-lauded Zewu-jun in the flesh, but he found _him_ instead. Lan Xichen is everything they said and so much more.

After getting properly dressed, Nie Shengzai leaves his own bedchambers and flinches when he spots Nie Huaisang having breakfast in the lounge of their residence.

“Good morning, A-Wang,” Nie Huaisang says, pausing the sip on his tea to grace him with a sly smile. “You came back late last night.” He beckons him to sit and eat before they head to the early morning discussion. Nie Shengzai clears his throat, obeying as he finds a bowl of still warm enough broth to eat and mask his uneasy expression.

Primly seated in a pool of garments, long sleeves gathered at his sides, he scrutinizes the youth’s face and finds the subtle smile of someone that hides a secret and the nonchalant air of someone that doesn’t care to expose it. Or perhaps his cousin is oblivious to his own feelings. Nie Huaisang has always been good reading others and finding out what they desire. The moment his cousin took an interest in Lan Xichen, he realized why he had snuck out last night and came back past midnight. “Are you getting along with Zewu-jun?” he casually asks, sipping his tea and watching how Nie Shengzai chokes on his breakfast.

“I enjoy his company,” he says distractedly.

Suspicions of his cousin being Nie Mingjue’s reincarnated soul have completely vanished when he and Lan Xichen touched and nothing happened. But Wei Wuxian was very clear when he warned them. His spell might not work and couldn’t guarantee to preserve the memories attached to Nie Mingjue’s soul. Perhaps it’s just an unnerving family resemblance and his imagination playing tricks on him whenever he looks at his carefree cousin and finds his brother behind his eyes. Nie Huaisang cannot imagine what Lan Xichen is going through when looking at him; the way it must pain him to see someone so alike reminding him he lost Nie Mingjue for good. It has been so long already, twenty years of idle waiting, and it could take a hundred more for him to reincarnate. Nie Huaisang would’ve gone mad.

Nie Shengzai wolfs down a rounded, steamy bun and stands, but before he excuses himself, Nie Huaisang interrupts him. “Don’t do something stupid,” he warns.

“Like what?” Ignoring his worries, he secures his saber by his sash.

“You know exactly what I mean.” Nie Huaisang arches an eyebrow at him. The last thing Lan Xichen needs is a youth with Nie Mingjue’s air after him, or perhaps that’s _exactly_ what he needs. Nie Huaisang suppresses a withheld smile, knowing a reprimand will achieve more than a subtle encouragement. “We are guests in the Cloud Recesses and Zewu-jun is a dear friend of mine. He outranks you, he’s older and wiser, and has no time for you to overwhelm him with your endless questioning about dage.” The way he still calls him big brother without intending to shrinks his heart.

Nie Shengzai scoffs. “It’s nothing like that, I enjoy his company and he enjoys mine,” he retorts.

“Am I attending the tedious conference alone today? Nie Huaisang purses his lips and finishes his tea.

“If you excuse me,” Nie Shengzai says, kowtowing just enough to please him. “I would like to train.”

Nie Huaisang waves his hand at him, his head cocking to the side. “Go, go, don’t mind poor little me abandoned by my husband and my favorite cousin.” He sighs, but the funny smile on his lips betrays his feigned offense.

Nie Shengzai stops at the doorstep to arch an eyebrow at him. “I’m your only cousin.” Nie Huaisang is like a big brother to him. He has always been there. Before and after his father’s death, his mother is really fond of him and, at the end of the day, Nie Huaisang treats him like the little brother he never had. And yet he’s unable to share his confused heart with him.

“Hence my favorite,” Nie Huaisang quips. Nie Shengzai lets out a hearty chuckle before he leaves.

Outside the guest residence, the air smells like snow, the cold dry and unpleasant. Nie Shengzai discarded wearing his coat fearing it would hold Lan Xichen’s scent from last night. He needs to get him out of his head, not dive right into his treacherous thoughts. Avoiding the group of cultivators expectantly waiting for the last day of the conference, he heads to the woods and up the mountain to find a quiet place to hone his swordsmanship and sweat away the taste of his ungiven kiss.

 

At the prospect of enduring eight hours of the conference, Lan Xichen decides he will take some time for himself to dwell on last night. Being around him becomes harder every time and easier the more he thinks about it. He has gotten used to the resemblance with Nie Mingjue but it kills him every time he forgets who he truly is. Nie Shengzai is a young cultivator, the future sect leader of the Qinghe Nie Sect, and he still tries to find Nie Mingjue behind those brown, gentle eyes. How unfair that is? For both.

The sinuous path toward the cold spring is deserted, but who would want to dive into almost frozen waters first thing in the morning except for him? His flimsy robes sway along with his movements, the lack of breeze and the dryness of the cold hinting it could snow anytime. Lan Xichen has always loved to witness the first snowfall of the winter swathing the Cloud Recesses in a blanket of the purest of snows.

With cheeks red as two apples and his breath leaving white puffs behind, he would stand hand in hand with a three-year-old Lan Wangji until the first snowflakes started hovering his way down the ground. They maintained the tradition for as long as they could, sometimes the snow would surprise Lan Wangji in the middle of training, others it would surprise Lan Xichen just arriving from Lanling or Qinghe. The first snow reminds them forever of their childhood days and leaves a bittersweet taste behind.

It also reminds him of Nie Mingjue, like everything he holds precious in his life. During one of his visits to the Cloud Recesses, Lan Xichen suspected it would snow that night, so they waited for an hour in the dark and the cold until the first white dots started filling the sky in unarranged harmony. Lan Xichen gasped and smiled at the sight, squeezing Nie Mingjue’s hand and leaning onto his shoulder. But before he could relish in the increasingly white landscape, Nie Mingjue wound his arms around his waist and leaned down to take his mouth. He remembers his coat draping down his shoulders and pooling at his feet, but Nie Mingjue kept him warm and safe against him. 

It wasn’t their first kiss, and it wouldn’t be their last, but it’s ingrained deep in his heart. The snow had been until then the symbol of his childhood, and with just a heated kiss, Nie Mingjue changed its meaning forever. Snow from then on was them, that kiss, that moment, the warmth of their bodies mingling and fighting the cold of the night in the comfort of the other. They never had the chance to kiss under a snowfall again, and as he walks toward the stone stairs that lead to the cold spring, there’s nothing he wants more than those relentless lips brushing against his own. If only he would’ve known…

The cold spring hides high atop the mountain, behind a natural wall and accessible by the stonework stairs built organically into the rock. Since the conference has already started, there should be no one around; the guests don’t really appreciate a cold spring the same way the disciples of the Gusu Lan Sect despite its miraculous healing properties. But before he climbs the first step, a distant grunt reaches his ears, and Lan Xichen halts at once. He swivels about, leaving the path and sharpening his senses to follow the noises of a fight without the clashing of swords.

Shuoyue hangs from his sash and adds weight to his light attire. He normally doesn’t carry his weapon to meditate in the mountains, but when there are so many cultivators from other sects lurking around, if any of them comes across him, it would be considered impolite not to wear his sword. Old customs are hard to overcome when they do no apparent harm. There used to be numerous duels during Discussion Conferences which encouraged the prime of the cultivators to challenge each other. And the tradition is still ongoing unless they gather in the Gusu Lan Sect. The cultivators respect the peaceful atmosphere and the rule of not dueling without permission. The mere thought of asking the Sect Leader of Lan Qiren keeps most of the eager cultivators at bay.

The waterfall gushing over the rocks reverberates closer, and Lan Xichen shivers in the silvery, cotton robe. He could cast a barrier to protect himself from the cold, but what’s the point if he’s about to dive into the almost frozen waters of the cold spring. As he enters a clearing, he stares unblinkingly at the scene in front of him, his dark, expressive eyes swooning with delight. The sight of a crystalline lake brimming with white foam would be enrapturing enough if not for the youth enduring the icy surging of water on top of his bare shoulders while he thrusts his saber forward in a powerful lunge. He relinquishes not a single inch from the stream of water, immersed in a sword routine extremely familiar to Lan Xichen. He’s no stranger to the Qinghe Nie Sect saber technique.

The water splits for a brief second only to resume the relentless plunging down the mountain after the slice of the blade, but even if Nei Shengzai cannot defeat his opponent, his attacks are ruthlessly decisive, not an inch of hesitation in his features. Lunge after lunge, barefoot over the slippery rocks, his long, onyx hair tied up in a high ponytail completely drenched in water. The end drips thick droplets in a sinuous path down the curve of his spine. His muscles tense and swell at every twirl, at every forceful stab against the seemingly innocent cascade. Who knows what it did to wrong him? With only a pair of trousers rolled up to his knees and a sword, Nie Shengzai is a sight to behold.

Every movement follows a weary groan, the whoosh of his sword mingling with the swoosh of the water, engaged in an endless lashing that disturbs the serenity of the place. And yet Lan Xichen cannot avert his gaze. His eyes rivet the length of his bared torso, trails of water trickling down the ridges of his muscles and damping the waistband of his undergarments. His mouth goes dry, ogling him in all his gloriousness. Only Nie Mingjue used to have this effect on him. He always loved to see him train until exhaustion, and while watching him, his stomach would curl nice and warm as it does now upon watching Nie Shengzai. Exactly how it shouldn’t. Lan Xichen feels deliciously terrible about it for a hot minute, and yet his lips curl upward and his eyes narrow at the unexpected treat for the eyes.

As an unseen beholder, Lan Xichen watches him until Nie Shengzai senses his presence and glances back at him with a pair of stony-hearted eyes immersed in battle. They weren’t ready for him. They soften enough to tame the apparent rage in him, his eyes brimming with jubilation, his lips lacing a sizzling smile. Lan Xichen’s heart trudges from one heartbeat to another, his legs faltering under his intense gaze and the way he unabashedly swipes his brown eyes over him when he’s the one half-undressed. The way he moves not only mimics Nie Mingjue’s traits; not even a seamless copy could reach this level of perfection. He has the same feeling of being in trouble he had when Nie Mingjue had just burned a handful of energy in his daily training and still had a tad more for him.

Nie Shengzai leaps off the rocks and lands on the shore in one graceful movement. A devilish grin bares his teeth, saber still in hand, his strides unfaltering as if he knew how he affects him. Lan Xichen hopes he never finds out.

“Zewu-jun.” He bows politely. The elegant crown is nowhere to be seen, just a half top knot gathering the length of his hair and the ever-present forehead ribbon framing his perfect, straight eyebrows. Nie Shengzai knows he shouldn’t stare, and yet he doesn’t even try to hide the shameless path that his eyes trace over his body. A simple, white robe with long cuff sleeves is all Lan Xichen wears instead of his usual attire composed of many layers adorned in silver embroidery and cloud motifs. Even so casually dressed, he’s still a god among mortals.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Lan Xichen says.

“You can stare all you want,” he boldly says. “But you could also join me.” Nie Shengzai lifts his saber, his foot sliding a couple of inches backward as he gets in a defensive position. The ground is damp and cold as he digs his toes on it, but his chest heaves from anticipation more than exhaustion. He meets his eyes from behind the sharp blade of his sword.

Lan Xichen’s hearty chuckle rings even more beautifully than the waterfall. Nie Shengzai changes his stance for an offensive one with a simple shift of weight on the balls of his feet. “Oh, you mean it,” Lan Xichen says with a hint of smugness unusual in him. It’s been years since he has fought another cultivator, even more since he has dueled other person than his brother or Nie Mingjue. His stomach churns at the prospect of an imminent fight even if he has all the winning cards under his sleeve. He shouldn’t indulge, and yet…

Nie Shengzai smiles, knowing he’s misbehaving but not at all afraid of the consequences. A spark glitters behind the darkness of his pupils before he propels forward in a threatening lunge. Lan Xichen nimbly dodges his attack, stepping aside as if he glided over the ground instead of walking. It surprises Nie Shengzai as he turns to face his opponent. Lan Xichen’s hands interlace at his back, his lips curled in a half-smile.

No matter how fast he moves or how mighty his swordsmanship, Lan Xichen is faster than lightning and retreats with such gracefulness that Nie Shengzai looks like a mad dog chasing an unreachable cloud. His blade doesn’t get close enough to be a menace. Nie Shengzai pursues a chance to duel and Lan Xichen enjoys watching him struggle. He knows he could beat him in the twinkling of an eye.

Lan Xichen anticipates his every move, familiar with the way he fights because he has had to duel Nie Mingjue so many times he has nothing new to offer. Whenever Nie Shengzai believes his hit will land, Lan Xichen deflects his blade with the palm of his hand imbued in spiritual energy and sends Nie Shengzai on one knee as his saber reverberates up to his arm.

But that’s when Nie Shengzai grins a wolfish smile, standing and lunging forward with every intention to pass by Lan Xichen. Expecting the same graceful sidestep, he reaches with his hand right where Lan Xichen lands and grasps his fluttering long sleeve by a whisker. Nie Shengzai tugs until they are cheek to cheek, the heat of his face contrasting with the cold, jade beauty of Lan Xichen’s. “Indulge me, please,” he whispers into his ear. “Draw your sword.”

With a flick of his sleeve, the Jade of Lan breaks free and turns around. He lifts a pair of fingers to his lips and Shuoyue unsheathes itself with a magnificent blue and silvery glare and a smooth whoosh. The sword traces a flourish in the air before flying right to his opponent. Even if he could defeat him single-handedly and unarmed, Lan Xichen concedes. Nie Shengzai swoons at the clear as water blade flying toward him brighter than white gold and sharper than his mind.

Their swords clash in the air, Nie Shengzai holding on his saber with both hands while Lan Xichen controls Shuoyue through a flow of spiritual energy. His eyebrows knit at the impressive strength of Nie Shengzai’s thrusts, deflecting his attacks as he scrutinizes the familiarity of his movements. White sparks sprinkle out of their blades, a silvery blue and a white glare producing a piercing sound only muffled by the relentless pouring of the waterfall, concealing their duel. His advances are forceful and eager and bring a smile to Lan Xichen’s lips. Apparently, the youth fights as openly as he flirts; and both are so precise he has no doubt Nie Shengzai will be a danger to his enemies -and his heart- when he reaches the peak of his cultivation.

It’s not that he belongs to the Qinghe Nie Sect and Lan Xichen recognizes his fighting style. He has dueled Baxia many times, barring the way Nie Shengzai attacks and leaves his flank open in favor of a risky counterattack. It reminds of Nie Mingjue and his reckless way of fighting. He attacks with the confidence of a slayer and spares lunges and thrusts without relinquishing a single inch of terrain. Lan Xichen could’ve wounded him several times by now. “You leave your flank open when you counter-attack,” he warns.

That was also Nie Mingjue’s weakness. Not that many enemies were able to survive a forceful counterattack by Baxia in Nie Mingjue’s strong arms, but he took unnecessary risks and those who did, used the opened flank to wound him before dying by his blade. No matter how many times he tried to make him see sense while they were training, Nie Mingjue stuck to his own ways.

“If I win by that attack, what’s the point of playing safe?” Nie Shengzai retorts, breathless but immersed in the fight and not ceasing his lunges.

“You could get seriously injured,” Lan Xichen quips and knits his eyebrows at his stubbornness. Nie Mingjue had; in the war, in duels, blinded by rage and seeing red. If he could stick his saber in his enemy’s heart he cared nothing for his own wounds. Nie Shengzai snorts as an answer, again, deflecting Shuoyue’s slash and sacrificing a defensive movement to propel forward and try to reach Lan Xichen.

Using the momentum, Lan Xichen slams Nie Shengzai’s vulnerable side with a blast of spiritual energy; his palm flat against his firm muscles. It’s enough to make him tumble on the ground with a grunt, his head whipping back onto the grass. Lan Xichen twirls in the air, his flimsy robes billowing in the breeze. Mid-air, his hand finds the hilt of his sword and Nie Shengzai’s eyes widen, knowing he’s done for. When he lands on the ground, the very tip of Shuoyue points at Nie Shengzai’s neck. The youth pants by the exertions, but he breaks into a smile not minding at all the defeat.

“I yield.”

“Smart choice.” Lan Xichen arches an eyebrow at him, sheathing Shuoyue at once. “Well fought.” He stretches a hand and Nie Shengzai hoists himself up and slides his saber in his scabbard.

“Thank you, Zewu-jun.” He bows politely, groaning faintly at his sore side. The pain will fade but a bruise will take its place. The thought of it still healing when he’s back at Qinghe shrinks his heart.

“You have no one to blame but yourself,” Lan Xichen quips with a hint of a smile in his voice, but narrows his eyes at the reddened skin. Taking a step forward, Nie Shengzai allows him to brush his fingers over his skin, sending a frisson through his spine. “Come, I know where you can heal before it gets worse.”

“I’m fine,” Nie Shengzai chortles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Then I will head to the cold spring alone,” Lan Xichen says with a charming smile. “As you should know, the healing properties are not the only ones those freezing waters hold. You can calm down your heart, your mind, and…”

“I’ll accompany you,” he interrupts, grabbing his bundle of clothes near the pond. “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” A withheld smile contained in his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧ This was very self-indulgent xDD I love writing fights and action scenes (they are a challenge, though) and ahhh, yes... the cold spring... is Lan Xichen ready for that? (灬º 艸º灬)
> 
> See y'all next Tuesday! ~ヾ(＾∇＾)


	15. Chapter 15

A less menacing cascade resounds calmingly in the background and fills the pond of the cold spring. The temperature up here is nigh unbearable, but with their high cultivation, they should endure the extreme conditions and benefit from them. The waters trail down the mountain carrying the power of nature itself in the purest of forms. Nie Shengzai and Lan Xichen stroll their way up shoulder to shoulder, the comfortable silence only disturbed by their feet on the stone path and Nie Shengzai’s curiosity. He never loses a chance to learn something new about the Cloud Recesses, or perhaps he merely enjoys Lan Xichen’s spellbound voice.

Since way before the Gusu Lan Clan established their residence here, the founder Lan An spent the seasons cultivating in solitude and experiencing the beneficial wonders of the natural spring. He found out dedicated meditation helped the spiritual energy flow, and the healing properties of the water enhanced the strength of the golden core and the tedious process of cultivation. It was during his time in Gusu that he met his cultivation partner and together founded the Gusu Lan Clan. He would later pass on his wisdom and expertise to his Sect before retiring again to the temple and his previous monastic life after his partner’s death.

Lan Xichen never felt the need to fill the silence with idle talk, but since Nie Shengzai asked about the origins of the cold spring, he indulged and explained the story of their founder. Although he conveniently left out the part in which the Lan family has a trait of falling in love irremediably and only once, sometimes losing their partners early in life. It happened to the founder, his father, his brother, and as much as it pains him to admit it, himself too.

The stone steps disappear around a corner of the mountain, and in a clearing surrounded by rocks, there’s a pond that promises to freeze itself at any moment. But the waters here never turn to ice even though they carry the winter inside. Nie Shengzai stares in awe at the landscape, and Lan Xichen misses nothing of the sweet smile stretching his lips until he undoes his sash and drops them on the ground with a clank along with the saber.

It’s not unusual to share the cold spring with another cultivator. Lan Xichen comes often with Lan Wangji, his uncle, and even Nie Mingjue back when he was alive, but as he removes his garments, his boldness turns into nothing and he can hear his own thumping heart. This will not have the calming effects he was expecting, not when Nie Shengzai removes his trousers and graces him with the sight of two perfectly toned butt cheeks. Too late to suggest keeping their undergarments on.

Tossing primly his robe over some rocks, Lan Xichen steps in the freezing pond without hesitation, his skin numbing as he enters the waters with feigned calmness. He’s overly aware of his own nudeness and can sense a pair of young eyes roaming his back. But when he dips enough to cover up to his waist what leaves his lips is a sigh of relief, free from Nie Shengzai’s curious eyes. Upon hearing a loud curse, Lan Xichen turns about, his hair painting inky undulations in the water.

“I’ll get a frostbite!” Nie Shengzai shivers when the water reaches his ankles. Lan Xichen breaks into a faint chuckle, and the memory of the first time Nie Mingjue tested the wintry waters of the cold spring rushes through his mind. He cursed out loud, shyly letting the water cover his body while enduring Lan Xichen’s teasing. But Nie Mingjue took his revenge right there, pinning him to the nearest rock and ravishing him to his heart’s content; or more like until Lan Xichen couldn’t feel the cold of the water any longer and only his name poured out of his lips like a mantra. He was so ashamed of what they had done here, desecrating such an unalloyed place with their lust, and yet he would do it all over again. His gaze lands on said rock, and a sad smile conquers his lips.

“This is inhuman.” The not-so-subtle complaint brings Lan Xichen back to the present and the man in front of him, and he swallows dryly. Standing naked on the shore and walking in hesitantly, Nie Shengzai grumbles while Lan Xichen stares at him not knowing if he should chide him for perturbing the peace of the place or let the moan trapped at the back of his throat finally free. His eyes dare not to linger on any particular place -it wouldn’t be appropriate- but even surrounded by freezing waters, the red comes up his cheeks and an until now forgotten heat courses through him.

The youth sports a nonchalant air he finds utterly alluring, he has loosened his hair, and it drapes down his shoulders longer than he had imagined at first. His arms flex, fighting the cold, his chest tight and hard and yet the perfect pillow to dream all those wet dreams he’s been having lately. Lan Xichen cannot stop himself, worrying at his lower lip while his eyes follow the expanse of his torso, the toned ridges of his stomach, soft skin -has to be-, muscled legs, thick and strong. Lan Xichen gasps, having disgraced the place in the past, and now again ignoring the forehead ribbon pressing him to conduct himself. As if he were a teenager and not an experienced sect leader that renounced to earthly pleasures too long ago.

He realizes too late that Nie Shengzai cocks his head at him with a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lan Xichen clears his throat, averting his gaze. “Can’t you handle the cold, Shengzai?” he quips, masking the urgency to relish in the sight of his perfectly toned body, swollen muscles, and obvious masculinity.

Nie Shengzai snorts before he dashes forward, diving into the snow-like waters in one smooth movement. Lan Xichen frowns, his eyes fixed on the burbling spot that soon disperses over the surface. He follows a shadow underneath the crystalline water, but it disappears behind the cascade and he turns on his own heels in a full circle. There is no sign of him, and the corner of his mouth pulls upward at the childish trick. A moment later, he resurfaces in front of him, gasping a lungful of air, his lips quivering and purplish, his hair trickling water down his chest.

“It-it’s n-not that b-bad,” he stutters, and Lan Xichen chuckles. The apparent tension at being both completely naked fades, and they relax as much as they can, soaked in the freezing waters. “Miraculous properties, you said?” Nie Shengzai cups a handful of water, letting it seep through his fingers. “The only miraculous thing I’ll get is a cold.” He sneezes.

After Nie Shengzai finishes his remark with a hearty chuckle, Lan Xichen spots the forming bruise on his side and takes a step toward him, the water swirling around them. He regrets his decision as soon as their body heats touch, but it’s already too late when his fingertips graze gently over his skin. “I’ve gotten worse,” he says. Nie Shengzai misses nothing of those deep, dark eyes inspecting him nor the delicate fingers caressing his skin. All of a sudden, Lan Xichen presses his palm against his side and applies a dainty flow of spiritual energy into the bruise.

“I am sure you have, but I never intended to harm you,” he says, lifting his eyes to meet the youth and finding a subtle blush on his cheeks that shouldn’t be there and a charming smile that pierces right through his soul. “You’ll be fine.” His heated palm lingers over him longer than required.

“Thank you, Zewu-jun.” Nie Shengzai’s breath seizes in his chest, missing his touch on him; as if he felt safer, cared for, and known from the inside out. He has never experienced such a close connection with anyone in his life. In fact, he has never had lovers nor fallen in love. He went as far as to kiss a boy in his teenage days and the experience left him empty and aching for something more, something unachievable.

It was a hot summer night. Nie Shengzai was almost seventeen and nourished by tales of heroes and love stories deeper than life itself. He knew better than to steal a bottle of strong liquor and invite a guest disciple from the Lanling Jin Sect to drink along. They drank, they joked, and they succumbed to the itching desire to kiss, and bite, and taste more than the wine. He was so beautiful, with long, brownish hair, thick eyebrows, and eyelashes that primly adorned his cheeks as they kissed. Nie Shengzai yielded to the rush of adrenaline, his ragged breath, the enticement of the spell and the world full of possibilities. His body answered the call, his mouth tasting, relentlessly, eager to find what couldn’t be found. He was so young and naïve as to believe love formed in the shape of a kiss only to realize it wouldn’t. They parted as friends, his heart shattering more for what he wouldn’t find in his beautiful partner than the farewell. They never saw each other again.

Nie Shengzai lived with a numbness at the back of his mind, a subtle prickle under his skin, and an old, ancient longing in his heart. As if he had loved and lost; as if he would never love again. He learned to ignore those teenage dreams of falling in love and decided to put his efforts where he could see results. But the sentiment never faded, he knew he belonged; that one day he would find someone to make a home of and live in it forever. And then he met Lan Xichen and everything awakened as a hopeful fantasy that will never come true. Why him? Why now?

How can he allow himself to dream about the peerless god by his side? He cannot deny last night he flirted with him more than he should have; that he’d do it again and will do it again because as blatant as it comes out, it works as the perfect façade of disinterest and it brings a delectable smile to Lan Xichen’s lips. His true feelings for the Jade of Lan belong to himself. Nie Shengzai knows he’s nothing more than an eager youth to him, someone to tolerate and guide for the friendship with his cousin. And yet here he is, freezing in the Cloud Recesses’ cold spring, his heart drumming an unrequited song, and his eyes betraying him whenever they turn to ogle what he will never dare to touch. Will he?

“Did you really think you stood a chance?” Lan Xichen brings him out of his reverie.

“No.” Nie Shengzai grants him a sidelong glance. “But I wanted to see you fight. I wanted to see Shuoyue in action.” Lan Xichen’s answer is a coy smile.

Curtains of water pour at their backs while they speak, muffling their conversation with the noises of nature. While Nie Shengzai inspects the pond, he closes his eyes and allows his spiritual energy to mesh with the energy flowing through the waters. Lan Xichen takes a deep breath, allowing himself just a moment to relax.

Nie Shengzai wants to believe the waters hold healing properties, but he knows the spiritual energy that now lurks his body is responsible for the disappearance of the discomfort on his side. Nie Shengzai feels none of the stabbing pain, suspecting he’s already fully healed and he won’t have a bruise to remind him of their brief exchange of _words_. As if he needed it. He will get in bed tonight replaying the whole fight in his mind until he falls asleep. Admiring him from the distance, his lips curl unavoidably upward.

The forehead ribbon rounds his head and keeps his hair in place except for the two long strands that frame his face and drape in front of his chest. Nie Shengzai ambles closer, the water of the cascade drizzling over them like a gentle sprinkle lifted by the steady stream. Long lashes adorn his cheeks, his chest rising and falling gently. He looks like a jade statue of an old god. “What is it?” Lan Xichen says, eyes still closed, and Nie Shengzai flinches. He thought he could stare without him noticing.

“Wouldn’t you like a hot bath instead?” His voice drops just a notch. Hiding his flirting in plain sight is just an excuse to see that smile again, but Lan Xichen’s lips stretch in a thin line, the corners slightly upward. It would be a smile for anyone else, but he wants more.

“This is for cultivation and healing purposes,” Lan Xichen says. “Not for bathing or entertainment.” Without opening his eyes, he hopes to dismiss Nie Shengzai’s advances even though he has to stifle a smile. “You’ll feel better in just a moment, and we won’t stay here for long.”

“I’d feel better in a hot bath with you.” Nie Shengzai’s raspy whisper curls his stomach nice and warm.

“Shengzai…” he warns. Lan Xichen opens his eyes and stares into two deep wells that carry the shamelessness of a youth that insists on wooing him. The worst part is that Lan Xichen would love to answer to his romantic advances; if he weren’t sect leader, if he weren’t so much older, if he wasn’t still in love with Nie Mingjue and refusing to let anyone in. Ever again.

Nie Shengzai graces him with an insouciant shrug before he leans on a rock, both arms behind his head while his gaze gets lost in the heights of the peak. “We have a hot spring in Qinghe, much more comfortable than this,” he says. “With steamy water and lukewarm ponds for when it gets too hot.”

Lan Xichen chuckles, taking a sidelong glance at Nie Shengzai’s torso, his eyes riveting every ridge as if it were forgiven fruit. “I know all too well Qinghe’s hot spring.” He arches an eyebrow at him and Nie Shengzai clears his throat. Sometimes he forgets Lan Xichen has always been a welcomed guest in the Unclean Realm way before he was born; he was family.

“You haven’t been there in a while.” If he had, Nie Shengzai would’ve met him sooner. 

Lan Xichen sighs. He hasn’t set foot in the Unclean Realm since the coffin sealing ceremony twenty years ago, and because his presence was required. Prior to that, he attended to Nie Mingjue’s funeral and as he left the morning after, he promised to come back. He wanted to be a brother to Nie Huaisang and help him with the burden that so suddenly had fallen onto his shoulders. But he couldn’t. Lan Xichen never visited the family residence again because every corner reminds him of Nie Mingjue. “Next month is the martial arts contest,” Nie Shengzai suggests.

“Is it?” Lan Xichen glances at him and finds a half-smile. “I used to attend every year and then I… didn’t anymore.” Their last fight, the last time they made love, their last kiss, all of it happened the day before the renowned Martial Conference. He fears the words that might come out of Nie Shengzai’s mouth and yet…

“Come,” he says with a hopeful smile. “I’ll be taking part.” Lan Xichen smiles, but it’s a sad one. Will he be able to gather the strength to visit the Unclean Realm again? Memories will haunt him day and night around every corner.

“After the Discussion Conference ends today I’ll seclude myself in meditation for the remainder of the season,” Lan Xichen says.

“I just want another chance to see you,” Nie Shengzai says, his eyes pleading, but then he sneezes and the seriousness of the request makes Lan Xichen chuckle. Nie Shengzai swims closer to him, looming and dripping cold droplets all over. “Just say you’ll come.” He smiles smugly.

“You never give up?” Nie Shengzai shakes his head and his wolfish grin widens. “We should head back before you catch a cold for real.” Lan Xichen watches him sneeze again, his cheeks flushed in red. He lifts his hand and presses it tenderly over his forehead, surprising Nie Shengzai. “You’re warm.”

“And taller?” Nie Shengzai sneezes again, heady of him and slightly shivering.

“You don’t want to have that conversation again,” Lan Xichen quips, his hand still against his forehead, noting its overwhelming warmth and framing those dark, brown eyes that will be the death of him as Nie Mingjue’s were when he was alive.

 

Many hours later, wearing his white and blue uniform and with a hot broth in his stomach, Lan Xichen heads to the kitchens of the Cloud Recesses with a sachet full of medicinal herbs. Nie Shengzai missed the closing banquet of the conference. According to Nie Huaisang, he’s got a mild fever, and he compelled him to stay in bed even though he insisted he wanted to come to not disrespect the sect leader.

Feeling slightly guilty about it, Lan Xichen ignores the sidelong glances and the murmurs of the disciples in charge of the kitchens as he brews the herbs and collects the boiling concoction in a bottle. It’s the least he can do. They stayed longer than he intended in the cold spring, along with the low temperatures in the mountain and his previous harsh training it was expected that it would have a toll on him.

The sudden invitation to attend the martial conference lurk his mind on his way there. He cannot go; he cannot encourage the mild infatuation of Nie Shengzai when he cannot requite his feelings the same way. For a brief second, Lan Xichen ponders leaving the task of bringing him the medicine to one of the Gusu disciples, but before he makes up his mind about it, he stands in front of the guest residence and knocks on the doorframe.

“Ah, Xichen-ge,” Nie Huaisang opens the door almost immediately and beckons him inside. “You needn’t come.”

Lan Xichen grants him one of his polite smiles. “It’s no issue at all.” On the table, there’s an opened book and a steamy teapot.

“He’s fine just a fever and a cold. My cousin shouldn’t be training outside in the middle of winter,” he sighs. “It’s not the first time his recklessness puts him in bed.”

“I’m afraid the visit to the cold spring didn’t help either,” Lan Xichen says.

“Oh.” Nie Huaisang covers his smile with his folding fan. “Never acquired the taste for it. Too cold,” he mumbles.

“I brought him medicine.” Lan Xichen offers the small bottle with a greenish swampy liquid inside, but Nie Huaisang peeks at it, ignoring him.

“He’s in bed.” His hand stretches, pointing at one of the bedchambers, and even though he cannot see it, Lan Xichen knows his smile has widened. Nie Huaisang sits at the table and sips his tea. “Would you join me later for tea? It’s been ages since we had an evening for ourselves.”

“Of course, Huaisang.” His hand barely touches the wooden door of Nie Shengzai’s bedroom when the always sharp-witted Nie Huaisang hums a piece of scathing advice.

“Good luck making him swallow that,” he chortles. “He’s worse than dage when he was sick.”

Lan Xichen chuckles. Nie Mingjue was the worst patient ever when he was unwell. His bad mood would spike through the roof, he would refuse to stay in bed and rest. The only way he had found effective was to slide in bed with him and exhaust him so he could sleep like a baby wrapped around him. Sliding the doors open, he finds Nie Shengzai reclined in bed in his undergarments and only covered by a thin sheet. He’s polishing his saber probably refusing to rest and sleep. Nie Shengzai notices him at once and tries to get up.

“Sect Leader Lan.”

“Stay where you are.” He lifts a hand at him and Nie Shengzai leans again against the many pillows behind his back. “There’s no need for such formalities.” While he puts away his saber, Lan Xichen gets closer to the bed, and unexpectedly, Nie Shengzai makes room for him to sit on the edge. He hesitates for a moment, considering if it would be appropriate, but he concedes.

“If I had known you were coming, I would have dressed properly.” Nie Shengzai smiles when Lan Xichen sits comfortably near his legs. “I wanted to attend the banquet, but -he sneezes- my cousin wouldn’t let me.”

“I brought you medicine.”

“I’m great, there’s no need,” Nie Shengzai says, eyeing distrustfully the contents of the bottle. “A good night sleep and I’ll be as good as new.”

“Take it,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at the same time he opens the bottle and hands it to him.

“Is it bitter?” Nie Shengzai sniffs the content and a grimace of disgust conquers his countenance.

“I don’t know,” he lies. “It’s been a long time since I’ve gotten sick, but I’ve boiled it myself.”

“Did you add some sugar?”

“No. Do you have a sweet tooth, Shengzai?” Unable to refuse those deep eyes, and medicine made by Zewu-jun himself, Nie Shengzai murmurs a curse and downs the bottle in one, long, bitter gulp, trying to mask his face of disgust to no avail. “Was it so bad?” Nie Shengzai sinks back in the pillows, shaking his head. He’s been refusing to lie in bed most afternoon and he’s burning hot. The fever hasn’t quenched in the least. 

“I know a kiss would sweeten my lips…”

Ignoring his remark with a subtle smile, he keeps the empty bottle in his sleeve. “Now rest,” Lan Xichen says, standing when a hand grasps his sleeve and his attention.

“Stay a while?” Nie Shengzai says, his eyes pleading. “Tell me a story.”

Lan Xichen relinquishes and sits again with a sigh. “I don’t know any stories.”

“You play the most beautiful stories all the time.” His fingers haven’t let go of his sleeve yet as if he could prevent him from leaving with such a childish gesture.

“Are you asking me to play for you, Shengzai?” There’s a hint of playfulness in his voice that warms his heart and lowers his guard.

“Maybe.” Nie Shengzai attempts a shrug, but the smile on his lips is languid like those of Nie Mingjue right before falling asleep or very early in the morning.

Lan Xichen’s hand finds his way to his face, cupping tenderly the warmed-up skin, sensing the pink hue spreading scorching hot. “You need to rest. I should go.” He’s aware of the effects of the medicine since he made it himself and knows it will make him sleepy. In the morning, the fever will be completely gone and he’ll recover as if he hadn’t been sick in the first place. Lan Xichen treasures this bit of history of his mother, so he shares it with Nie Shengzai.

They weren’t allowed to see her very often, but there were exceptions. Birthdays, special celebrations, or when Lan Wangji or he were sick. Late in the night, the delicate features of her mother would appear at the doorstep of their room. She would kneel beside his bed and, actions coated with loving words, she would pour the bitter medicine down his mouth. They never complained, they cherished every moment with their mother no matter the circumstances. Lan Xichen remembers falling asleep right after, way before she would leave, with the lingering bitter taste in his mouth. He would feel a kiss on his sweaty forehead before the bitterness would completely fade away as if it was never there.

“I should go,” Lan Xichen whispers, his thumb tracing his cheekbone. Those eyes that seemed condemned to sleepiness glance at him behind hooded lids.

“Stay until I fall asleep.” Nie Shengzai leans into his hand, fighting to stay awake. “But I have to warn you that I speak in my sleep.”

“I won’t take offense on what you say about me,” Lan Xichen says, his voice calmed and collected, his heart beating faster.

“I couldn’t possibly say anything bad about you. Perhaps embarrass myself,” Nie Shengzai yaws, the gesture so familiar, so homemade it shrinks his heart, “saying you’re stunningly beautiful again.” Lan Xichen holds back a chuckle. “Or how you have the deepest eyes I’ve ever seen…” Lan Xichen stands, his hand slowly brushing his cheek as if refusing to let go, Nie Shengzai drifting to sleep commanded by his medicine. “Will you come?” Nie Shengzai mumbles. “To my home.”

“Why such an interest?”

“Because I cannot bear not knowing when I’ll see you again.” Nie Shengzai closes his eyes. “No wonder he was in love with you.” Taken aback by sincere words said in the midst of a fever, Lan Xichen touches his forehead one last time. Nie Shengzai is finally asleep and resting, and his temperature has already dropped.

“That’s precisely why I shouldn’t go,” Lan Xichen murmurs, moving a strand of hair away from his face and leaning down to press a chaste kiss on his forehead. His eyes linger on his flushed complexion, on his straight nose, and his parted mouth. “I cannot.”

Before he leaves the room, slushy snowflakes stick to the window and grab his attention. The first snowfall of the season, probably the only one knowing Gusu’s humid weather. One moment he's guarding his sleep and admiring the calmness of his features, and the next the windowsill is covered in a puffy white coat. Lan Xichen hopes there’s a white blanket over the Cloud Recesses by the time he finishes his tea with Nie Huaisang so he can leave a trail of steps from here to the hanshi and seclude himself in meditation.

Seeing how he cannot forget Nie Mingjue nor return the feelings he knows rule the youth’s heart, he says his farewell to Nie Huaisang that night and says nothing upon yet another invitation to visit Qinghe soon. Let that innocent kiss on his forehead be their goodbye for Lan Xichen has no intention to live outside what he knows nor let his heart heal until Nie Mingjue comes back or he leaves this world.

As promised, the snowfall is denser when he leaves the guest residence, the snow already forming drifts in the whimsical shape of the howling wind. The cold dries-up importunate tears at how he was once kissed, loved, and warmed-up in nights like this and now he walks alone and shivers, forgotten and wasted, his love kept in the depths of his heart for the one that left and might never come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ヾ(｡･ω･)ｼ
> 
> You're on denial, sweetie... xD It kills me to see you sad, Lan Xichen... so, to end up in a happy note, we're going to Qinghe on the next chapter and I know a little someone that will be very happy about it *crush intensifies*
> 
> See y'all next Friday! (*ゝω・)ﾉ


	16. Chapter 16

Qinghe must be the only region where the winter seems to have settled home refusing any season to take over. The Cloud Recesses enjoys warmer days, and the snow has melted and raised the current of the rivers. But right now, naked trees frosted with the lasts crusts of snow greet them as they cross by a narrow entrance the impressive, and impossibly tall walls of the Unclean Realm.

Enveloped in long, alabaster coats, Lan Xichen leads the way for the half a dozen disciples of the Gusu Lan Sect that accompany him on his official visit. Snow collects in the crevices of the stone path, but soon his gaze lifts and his heart leaps upon the immensity of the Nie Residence. Almost endless stairs lead the way to the top, buildings ingrained in perfect harmony with the side of the mountain, wooden bridges connecting tea houses and guest residences. Intricate passages venture inside the depths of the mountain to conclude in an astonishing balcony or a private garden. Lan Xichen has gotten lost countless times in the labyrinthine magic of the Unclean Realm when Nie Mingjue was alive, but he can hardly recognize his home or the faces of the cultivators as they climb up.

Things have changed quite a lot since he was here. The place has an austere atmosphere like in the days of Chifeng-zun, but the light seems to catch a glimpse of gold and thoughtful decorations that were never there. The Qinghe Nie Sect motif appears in the shape of statues and in the corners of the roofs. Nie Huaisang made his sect thrive and his home beautiful.

“Zewu-jun,” a shy disciple calls for him. “They say in the Unclean Realm you have to duel if someone challenges you.”

“Although it is considered polite to accept a duel, you may refuse,” Lan Xichen explains with a calming smile. “We are guests here, but remember we follow the Gusu Lan Clan teachings and rules.” He stops at a halt, turning around to see the faces of the new generation of disciples. “No dueling without permission.” They all nod at once, more relieved than anything, he suspects.

Resuming the long walk up, Lan Xichen heads to the training fields and the arena. The competition must be about to start if it hasn’t already. He had no intentions of traveling to Qinghe, but after the Discussion Conference, the weeks went by faster than the swallows in migration season. After only one week in secluded meditation, his mind was filled with him, with them, and Lan Xichen urged to be busy instead, trying to distract himself from the memories of Nie Mingjue and the seed of hope that Nie Shengzai planted in his heart.

A new love blooming despite his efforts to impose grief on himself; new feelings that mingle with the past and with those he still holds for Nie Mingjue. His heart is torn between an irrepressible urge to be around Nie Shengzai and his heart crying out loud for Nie Mingjue even after thirty years. His steps falter when he realizes how long it has been since he had pressed his lips over his. A lifetime ago, and yet when he looks back now, it has been like a long, weary winter that wraps you in cold, sorrow, and sadness.

But the sun shines again. Lan Xichen loves Nie Mingjue more than ever, but he also knows Nie Shengzai won’t leave his mind. The youth brings warmth to his heart he never thought he’d experience again. As if he could reconcile both sentiments, Lan Xichen longed to see him again, to be around that warm smile, gentle eyes, and sharp remarks; to be again the target of his attention, a friend who looks at him beyond his title or his cultivation.

Unplanned, almost by fate, Lan Xichen spent the days with the hint of a smile on his lips at the thought of him, and the nights among dreams -never nightmares- of Nie Shengzai in the prime of his youth, of the Nie Mingjue he remembers as if it was yesterday, of a mixture of the two that unsettles his heart and soul to exhaustion. Both their faces mesh in his dreams, one moment he’s kissing Nie Mingjue and the next Nie Shengzai wraps him in his arms with foolish promises of never letting go. Lan Xichen tries not to dwell on those thoughts for too long; they usually betray his timeless expression and put a treacherous smile on his lips.

Pleased by many weeks with his nephew back in shape, Lan Qiren asked him to send some disciples to the Martial Arts Conference, and Lan Xichen ended up accepting Nie Huaisang and Nie Shengzai’s invitation with the excuse of guiding them. His uncle was still in a terrible mood since Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian stayed for a few days. He still mourns for his most lauded disciple and how he fell for a demonic cultivator. Lan Xichen suspects it will pain him forever, even though he knows Lan Wangji’s happiness is all that matters to his uncle.

With a heart racing more for the events unfolding than the long climb, Lan Xichen enters the perimeter of the arena. The squared area is rimmed by a wooden fence where most of the disciples and cultivators gather to witness the matches. Several cultivators warm up inside the training grounds, getting ready for the fights. From the improvised gallery, Nie Huaisang waves his opened fan at him, so he heads his way trying to find Nie Shengzai among the crowd and failing miserably.

The gallery forms a beautiful pagoda with a privileged sight to see the competition. He has been there so many times he finds his way around easily. The wooden structure of the gallery creaks under his steps and the obedient disciples that follow him. The students huddle together behind him, gasping in awe at the cultivators about to fight. The Qinghe Nie Sect is famous for his fierceness in battle, his unmatched swordsmanship in hand-to-hand combat, and their martial arts training. Using only their bare hands and feet infused with spiritual energy, they fight until they knock their opponent three times or until a fighter yields. Only then, the match concludes.

The cultivators pit against each other in pairs when the referee draws their name out of a pouch, deciding the matches by sheer luck. Some will be luckier than others in the first rounds. Any member of the Qinghe Nie Sect can compete and measure their strength with their fellow cultivators. Year after year, the ones ranking on the top will gain honor and respect among their peers and preference to participate in other trials such as the archery contest or the Lanling hunting competition.

“Sect Leader Nie,” he greets. “Has it started?” Lan Xichen’s eyes roam the arena but don’t find what they seek.

“Sect Leader Lan, you’re right on time.” Nie Huaisang cocks his head from his bamboo seat and eyes the bundle of disciples hiding behind him. They resemble a group of white, scared hares. “Ah, quite the lot you got there,” he chuckles, beckoning a pair of cultivators from the gallery to approach them. “Why don’t you show our guests around and introduce them to the disciples their age?”

“Yes, Sect Leader Nie,” they say in unison.

“Sit with me, Xichen-ge.” Lan Xichen glances one last time at the disciples following obediently the Nie cultivators with the prospect of leaning against the fences to get a closer look at the combats. He sighs and sits next to Nie Huaisang. “The competition is about to start.”

“Still pairing up the fighters?” Lan Xichen wants to ask about Nie Shengzai’s absence, but he bites back his curiosity.

“Collecting the names, ah, there he is.” Nie Huaisang flicks open his fan and waves it languidly.

Lan Xichen spots the unmistakable frame of Nie Shengzai entering the arena with the last group of competitors. He stands out from the crowd, the uniform hugging his muscular body, his countenance haughty and smug as if he had not a worry in the world. The sun is high in the sky and offers not a hint of shadow to the contestants. It helps them fight the cold in what seems a typical day of winter in Qinghe.

After many weeks without seeing him, the resemblance with Nie Mingjue takes him by surprise once again. He has watched him fight countless times here in this same arena. His stomach churns by the sweet memories entangling with the new ones. He shouldn’t have come, and yet his lips curl upward and his heart drums impatiently. The way he moves, his tall figure and broad shoulders, he’s a sight to behold and lose one’s reason. If Nie Mingjue were alive, his cousin would be his favorite. He would train him to exhaustion, push him to his limits, and get the best out of him in return. But Nie Shengzai won’t enjoy the big brother that Nie Mingjue would be for him and Lan Xichen has to live for the rest of his existence without him.

“I knew you’d come,” Nie Huaisang whispers with a sly smile. “I hope you stay for the celebrations. It’s been too long since you’ve enjoyed a feast in our home.”

Nie Shengzai drops a wooden square with his name in the pouch, and when his eyes lift, they meet Lan Xichen’s. He beams at him with the strength of the sun itself, and Lan Xichen finds himself smiling back and ignoring Nie Huaisang’s idle conversation. Carefree, young, and shaking him with a half-smile that could be for anyone but it’s for him.  He smiles a grin so wide his heart melts faster than the snow under the sun. Seems like the youth is clearly pleased with his presence by the way their gazes meet and he just nods and mumbles to the person talking to him in the field. Lan Xichen realizes if he could, Nie Shengzai would trot his way toward him and grace him with the sound of his voice.

“Xichen-ge, would you like to borrow my hand fan?” he teases.

“Huaisang,” Lan Xichen warns, stifling a chuckle.

“You can’t deny he’s a charmer to who he deems fit,” he jests. “He takes after dage in that regard too.” Nie Huaisang conceals his smirk while Lan Xichen leaves his comment unanswered. As the referee arranges the matches, drawing names out of the pouch, the crowd suddenly murmurs. A disciple in the year of his debut has been paired with Nie Shengzai. “Ah, such bad luck.” Lan Xichen chuckles. “You can guess who ranked first last year…”

“Shengzai.” His name caresses his lips in ways it never should. “It’s still an honor to pit against the current champion isn’t it?” Lan Xichen says to erase the sweet taste of his mouth.

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang says. “Especially if he doesn’t concede and endures the fight.”

Several combats start at the same time to reveal the best ten fighters as soon as possible. The contest could last all morning and even extend to the afternoon in older days. The number of participants has increased considerably, but it still can’t compare to when Chifeng-zun participated in the prime days of the Qinghe Nie Sect. Everyone would join to have the honor to measure his strength in battle with a living legend. 

The chaos of the first matches was Nie Mingjue’s favorite part of the martial contest. When he was younger, he loved the thrill of being paired with older, renowned cultivators, and have the chance to beat them in one-on-one combat. Afterward, he would spend the night talking to Lan Xichen over a bottle of liquor about their weaknesses, how he was able to see a pattern in their fight style and exploit it in his advantage; even learning from his mistakes and applying them to his own technique. Nie Mingjue devoted himself to martial arts, sparring becoming second nature to him.

Lan Xichen broods on the memories of the past while he watches Nie Shengzai tackling his opponent for the third time. With a wolfish grin, he stretches a hand to the young cultivator covered in dust and with a few new bruises. “Well fought.” Lan Xichen reads on Nie Shengzai’s lips, as he pats his back twice. Another smile, this time for him, and the cutest shrug that catches him off guard and strikes him through the heart.

As the morning progresses, Nie Shengzai beats his opponents almost effortlessly and makes it to the top ten. The matches from now on happen one at a time. The fights last longer, the skill level closing in. After over a dozen encounters, he has broken a sweat, his upper garments slightly opened, revealing strong, swollen muscles that make his mouth go dry. But Lan Xichen keeps a straight face to avoid Nie Huaisang’s witty remarks.

Nie Shengzai’s style is unsurprisingly similar to Nie Mingjue’s. If what Nie Huaisang says is true, and he’s been honing his skills since he was twelve, in a few years he will become a cultivator to fear in any duel if he isn’t already. He shifts between the tiger and the dragon style. First, he utilizes his strength and his agility to exhaust his opponent or score an early victory, saving spiritual energy for future encounters. His hefty build grants him stamina for days. 

When Nie Shengzai told him about his fight with the Yazi, Lan Xichen couldn’t believe a teenager of merely seventeen fought for almost four days without fainting or dying in the hands of a creature way over his cultivation. His other fighting technique is not as popular since few cultivators train the dragon style. That particular way of fighting feeds on your spiritual energy directly. Its unpredictability and powerful attacks make it a hard choice for inexperienced fighters and can be the only way to beat someone better than you.

One of the most skilled fighters has managed to strike Nie Shengzai once. “The old champion wants his title back and has been training,” Nie Huaisang mentions, fanning himself quickly as the only sign of his impatience. He used to loathe the martial arts and the contest in full until he saw his brother winning the first time. Nie Huaisang felt the rush of the victory himself, realizing this was just another form of art; one he would never master but that he could admire from a distance.

Nie Shengzai bites the dust again when a sidekick with the blade of the foot lands directly on his ribs and unbalance him from the pain. His opponent has evened the fight two to two. Lan Xichen watches him without uttering a gasp, waiting for him to stand and continue fighting. Determined to end the match early on, Nie Shengzai has left his flank opened to the detriment of his defensive position. But there is a subtle change in his stance now, visible in how the playfulness of his eyes vanishes and a dark shadow replaces it; how the balance of his feet turn to a more steady position. For the inexperienced eye, one would believe he’s about to propel forward and launch an attack, but he’s holding back. Nie Mingjue never acquired the taste of defeat and it seems that the young Nie Shengzai hasn’t either.

Nimbly dodging two forceful attacks that would have made him lose the match and the contest, Nie Shengzai deflects the third kick that was aiming at the same side he left uncovered before. His forearm takes the expected hit, and he groans loudly at the pain, but he counter-attacks with a powerful blow right on his opponent’s chest. The blast of spiritual energy drags him over the ground for over twenty feet and secures his victory. Nie Shengzai’s chest rises and falls with his ragged breath, and a frisson runs through Lan Xichen’s body. 

The crowd cheers for him even if he has several matches left to snatch the title again. He’s clearly the favorite as much as Nie Mingjue was back in the day. Lan Xichen supposes the resemblance goes beyond the looks and his personality and transfers to what the Qinghe Nie Sect vouches for.

Someone offers Nie Shengzai some water before the next match. He downs a few cups, water trickling down his chin and dusty chest while Lan Xichen relaxes on his bamboo seat. “I’m glad you came,” Nie Huaisang says. “I remember you from back then when I was just a kid.” Lan Xichen turns about to face him. “I used to believe you’d marry dage and that you’d be my brother too.” A similar sad smile stretches both their lips. “I remember you watching him during the contest with a genuine love-struck glance. You never cheered, and to everyone else, you seemed not to care, always so collected and proper, but I saw how you looked at him and I knew how lucky my brother was to have you.”

“That was a lifetime ago,” Lan Xichen sighs, his eyes returning to Nie Shengzai as if he missed him already. This is a strange torture to his heart, in which he wants to enjoy life but he’s constantly reminded of what he has lost and what he cannot have. “There’s nothing left of my old self.”

“If you say so.” Nie Huaisang hides behind his folding fan, staring at Lan Xichen’s gaze lost in Nie Shengzai and seeing a spark of hope in his eyes. Perhaps his brother is gone forever and all the trouble they went through will pay off one day when his soul reincarnates and he lives a happy life free of Jin Guangyao’s influence. Isn’t that what all deserved? But he recognizes Lan Xichen’s pain, how he has chosen to wait and devote himself to Nie Mingjue despite not knowing when will they reunite. If they do at all.

“I thought he might be him,” Lan Xichen confesses out of the blue, surprising Nie Huaisang.

“I did too, for the longest time.” A deep sigh leaves Nie Huaisang’s lungs. “The chances he is dage are so few, and you remember what Wei-xiong said…”

“I know.” 

They must touch to trigger the spell, and even then, Nie Mingjue’s soul may keep his memories forever ingrained in its essence. They may never find each other. Nie Mingjue’s love for him hangs by a crimson thread and will be lost forever in between lives while he keeps him warm and alive in his heart. “Nothing happened. It’s not him.” Lan Xichen’s voice doesn’t crack but his heart shrinks.

They have touched, they’ve been close, they have shared stories and wine under the moonlight, and even though watching Nie Shengzai is like watching Nie Mingjue in his youth it breaks his heart. At least he got to see an undamaged version of him, a Nie Mingjue that didn’t suffer early in life, that didn’t have to carry a sect over his shoulders being just a teenager. Someone who didn’t unleash his frustration in the battlefield and slaughtered thousands for the greater good; and above all, someone who knows no betrayal, no murder, no pain like the one his sworn brother inflicted on both.

“Still…” Nie Huaisang holds his breath and locks eyes with Lan Xichen’s dark voids. “He has a crush on you,” he whispers. He finds no surprise in his countenance, only the same pain, and sorrow that someone smart enough glimpses in between polite smiles.

“I won’t hinder his youth with my own weary heart,” Lan Xichen states. His resemblance is due to the admiration he has felt for Nie Mingjue since he was a kid, to the endless stories his family has told him during the years, to the expectations of a clan that misses his long-lost war hero until today. Nie Shengzai is not Nie Mingjue, he’s his own prideful, successful self and, as much as it pains him, Lan Xichen loves him for it at the same time he mourns for Nie Mingjue. 

Guilt churns his stomach at how he wanted him to be his dead love, his soul coming back to him as if they were truly fated to live and age together for many centuries. He selfishly wanted him back so bad that he also put his own dreamlike expectations in Nie Shengzai. If the youth holds feelings for him, he’s at fault too and should have not encouraged him. His own desires tortured him despite the consequences, and he’s torn. Why has he come if he cannot let him in?

Lan Xichen leaves no room for discussion, he doesn’t deny Nie Shengzai’s feelings nor adds a dose of his own, but Nie Huaisang knows exactly what goes through his mind; he can read as much in the statement, and he also knows better than to impose. 

A Nie cultivator approaches him. “Sect Leader Nie,” he cups his hands together. “Sect Leader Jiang has arrived.” Nie Huaisang nods, a subtle furrow between his eyebrows marring momentarily his still-youthful beauty.

“Xichen-ge, could I trouble you later for tea?” A peace offering that appeases Lan Xichen’s inner turmoil. He smiles politely and nods. Nie Huaisang leaves Lan Xichen with his own gloomy thoughts as he watches the last matches of the competition, and he goes to find Jiang Cheng.

 

Slopping off during the ongoing contest turns out easier than he expected. Sect Leader or not, all eyes are on Nie Shengzai now, especially Lan Xichen’s. A sly smile unfolds on his lips. After they came back from the Cloud Recesses Conference, he had time to interrogate his cousin and draw out of him a pitiful confession. As he suspected, Nie Shengzai has been besotted with Zewu-jun since they met in the hunting competition. But his intentions or his advances in the matter weren’t as easy to figure out. If he’s just an enamored youth who admires and covets what his childhood hero had, if a sense of admiration has mixed with lust in an unfulfillable concoction, or if he’s genuinely in love. Lan Xichen’s beauty is talked over whenever he comes out from seclusion and blesses the cultivation world with his presence, but after Nie Mingjue’s death and until this day, everybody assumes he will follow his father’s steps and won’t marry or take a cultivation partner. The rumors confirmed when he named Lan Sizhui his official successor and heir.

But somehow his cousin seems oblivious to the consequences of his actions; his blood runs hot and unpredictable, and he knows nothing but what his heart tells him. No matter how this turns out, Nie Huaisang suspects Lan Xichen will seclude himself again from the world when the pain of not returning Nie Shengzai’s feelings overwhelms him. Part of him understands his reasons, and the other feels sorry for his cousin, bedazzled by his peerless beauty and unable to woo him as he would want because of who Lan Xichen is and who he loved in the past.

Speaking of beauty, the sight of his husband unaware of his heated gaze curls his stomach nice and warm even after twenty years of marriage. With his usual bitter countenance and indelicate bluntness, he commands the group of cultivators arriving with him, but the only thing Nie Huaisang sees as he approaches is how they nod and bow repeatedly wearing fearful expressions. And that quenches none of his curiosity.

After they leave, Jiang Cheng stands alone and his head jerks toward him at the same time a half-smile pulls the corner of his mouth upward. “What do you have for me, Jiang er gege?” Nie Huaisang asks, whipping his folding fan shut and letting it hang from his wrist. He has no need to hide from him. With a humph, Jiang Cheng lifts his chin and leans down to kiss him, feeling how his smile stretches his lips at the gingery brush of their mouths.

“Come,” he says, and Nie Huaisang links his arm around his. They saunter their way to a more discreet place. The conversation requires it.

“I am on tenterhooks,” Nie Huaisang whispers, squeezing his arm.

Two nights ago, the statues guarding the coffin containing Jin Guangyao’s fierce corpse and Baxia gave the alarm. Nie Huaisang was already in bed, exhausted by the preparations of the martial arts competition when the jade token in the shape of a bull’s head started gleaming in red. At first, he couldn’t recall where the subtle red shine came from until he opened the nightstand drawer and remembered. His hand trembled as he picked it up. As an added security measure, the copper stone beasts had been crafted with a pair of jade eyes each. If someone enters the perimeter of the peak or there’s an excessive amount of resentful energy, they give the alarm.

Similarly at how the Cloud Recesses protect their residence with tokens of passage that change in color and weight to inform of unwanted visitors or unexpected menaces, the same craftsmanship helps to keep the entrance of the cave free of gravediggers, thieves, or curious cultivators. That could be the case, what Nie Huaisang hoped, but it could also be that something has come out of there when it shouldn’t… His mind plotted a myriad of scenarios that robbed him of his sleep.

Nie Huaisang had no rest that night, but since the red glare disappeared as soon as he cradled the small token in his hand, he waited for Jiang Cheng’s arrival the next day to inform him. He naively thought they were free of intrigues and secrets, but at least now he has an accomplice to help him deal with the situation discreetly. 

“The men believe we performed a routine check,” Jiang Cheng says.

“Good.” Nie Huaisang walks abreast of Jiang Cheng and his stomach churns at how long is taking him to tell him about the situation. “Have you found anything?” he insists.

“I don’t know why the statues have set the alarm,” he says after a long silence. “The place is just as we left it, there was no one around, no creatures, no undead. The cave is sealed.” Nie Huaisang’s sigh of relief doesn’t go unnoticed.

They enter a solitary tea house with a balcony. Every cultivator in the Unclean Realm is watching the competition, so there’s no one around. The chirping of the birds and the dainty notes of a wind chime are their only company. “If there was resentful energy there, the statues took care of it by the time we arrived.” Jiang Cheng leans on the stonework balustrade and Nie Huaisang joins him, his eyes scrutinizing his husband’s expression. “Perhaps a fiend or a spirit ventured too far up the peak.”

“It shouldn’t be possible…” Nie Huaisang fidgets with his closed hand fan, leaning on his husband’s shoulder. “The barrier was unimpaired?” Jiang Cheng nods, wiping his worries away.

“As I said, the entrance of the cave was intact, and I know because I helped build it myself.”

“I know,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, pensive about the possibilities. The statues have been silent for over twenty years without an incident. Why set the alarm now? Something must be up there, something besides the enemy they trapped and didn’t defeat. Until they find out, this will rob him of his sleep and the calmness he had gotten used to.

“I can hear you thinking,” Jiang Cheng says. “I went up there to ease your mind not to worry you further.” Nie Huaisang swallows up his distress for the sake of his husband and the celebrations, but things like this don’t happen by chance. “I am willing to check inside if…”

“No,” Nie Huaisang interrupts him abruptly. “I am sure it’ll be fine, just a lost ghost that got exorcised by the statues and left enough resentful energy behind to set the alarm.” Not even himself believes his fabrications. What ghost could cross a magic barrier and survive? Lan Xichen explained to him a long time ago that the technology involving the tokens is foolproof. It’s been in the Cloud Recesses for centuries and it never failed or triggered a false alarm. “There’s no way I am opening the cave again, much less the coffin.”

“Let the dead be dead and gone,” Jiang Cheng agrees.

Nie Huaisang sighs, staring listlessly at the thriving city at the foot of the mountain. He has witnessed its growth, how a small town has turned into a well-sized city around the Unclean Realm. He loves to watch from up high and cherish in how he played his part to guarantee his sect’s success. It cost so much to his family, and finally, they have surpassed the times of Chifeng-zun even though they still lack the leader his people deserve. Nie Huaisang knows he will never be good enough even if he has tried his best. He never wanted to be Sect Leader, he never cared for such obligations, and never felt the thirst for power although he enjoyed the game while it lasted. And yet here he is, owner of it all for a few more years until Nie Shengzai is ready to take over.

“Come here,” Jiang Cheng says, bracketing Nie Huaisang against the balustrade and nuzzling at his nape, burying his nose in strands of long, onyx hair. Nie Huaisang turns about in his arms, his back leaning on the sturdy rock of the balcony, his head tilting upward to meet his husband’s deep blue eyes. They amaze him, one moment they can be glaring in purple and ready to slay for the tiniest offense, and the next they look at him as if he were the most precious treasure in the world.

Nie Huaisang’s most valuable asset, his highest glory, his most lauded achievement is to have Jiang Cheng as his partner in life. As if he was reading his mind, his husband wraps an arm around his upper back and pushes him onward. Clutching at the collars of his garments and standing on his tiptoes, Nie Huaisang parts his lips and Jiang Cheng takes his mouth with the entitlement of an experienced lover. A muttered moan escapes his throat, and he feels like falling again, like their first kiss but multiplied tenfold by a lifetime by his side and many years to come.

“Have you missed me or something?” he teases when he notes Jiang Cheng’s body nailing him to the railing and no air seeping between them.

“I want to erase that worrisome expression from your face.” His mouth outlines his jaw, from his pointy chin to the sensitive skin at the back of his ear. “Smile for me.” Even if he cannot see it, Nie Huaisang smiles.

“You promise everything’s fine?”

“I promise.”

His confident hands fondle his body over his garments and promise him the world. Jiang Cheng bites his neck, his body molding Nie Huaisang’s making sure he gets all bothered and flustered. “Not here,” Nie Huaisang gasps. “Anyone could see…” His mouth chides but his hand doesn’t replicate the same intentions as he palms Jiang Cheng over his jianxu.

“I can have my husband anywhere I want.” The smugness of his voice makes Nie Huaisang chuckle.

“Say you’ve missed me the week I’ve been here arranging the competition.”

“I’ve missed you,” Jiang Cheng whispers. While he trails dainty kisses in the crook of his neck, his hands squeeze Nie Huaisang’s buttocks and his hips lean into that naughty hand.

“Have you dreamed about me?”

“Every night,” he breathes out in his neck while Nie Huaisang undoes his sash and wraps a hand around him. The faint groan that leaves his lungs trickles down his spine like thick honey.

“Ah, Wanyin…” Jiang Cheng mouths at his neck, losing his mind at every heartbeat, at every time his hand strokes his cock. “I’ve missed my husband too… but we need to go back or we’ll miss the final fight. It would be unforgivable.”

“Then be quick about it.” Jiang Cheng pulls his skirts up with expertise, wanting to feel the softness of his skin, its warmth, the road to heaven that is the lush curve of his backside.

Nie Huaisang holds him in a tight fist, wondering where does this teenage rut comes from if they have each other every night with nothing in between but their skin and their sweat. “Is that my fault?” he teases, biting back a moan when naughty fingers tease his rim.

“The sun has been brushing your cheeks all morning,” Jiang Cheng says, his voice raspy and deep, his hands leaving red dots in the shape of his fingertips. “You’re blushing all over and stop biting your lips as if I had been the one doing it.” Nie Huaisang smirks. “He’s going to win and you know it, so what if you miss it for a moment with your husband…”

“You’re messing my clothes and my hair,” he pouts. Jiang Cheng doesn’t buy his coy play, not when that hand twists and squeezes just the way he likes. He turns Nie Huaisang around, lifting his garments up to the small of his back and taking his cock out anticipating their improvised encounter.

“I’ll make a mess of you.” The promise curls Nie Huaisang’s stomach when a pair of spit-licked fingers tug and prod and hurry to accommodate inside him. He bites back a moan, sneaking a hand between his legs to stroke himself and get some relief, distracting himself briefly from the sudden discomfort. “I can’t wait any longer.” Nie Huaisang braces himself on the balustrade, Jiang Cheng’s hand gripping forcefully his waist, the other guiding his cock inside him. It’s a tight fit that results in a moan of relief from both.

“Ah, Wanyin…” he gasps, his spine arching while Jiang Cheng sheathes home in one seamless thrust that steals all the air from his lungs. He leans slightly over him, pursuing his warmth, his hips molding his buttocks, his ragged breath puffing right at the back of his neck. He moves his hair to a side and plants a delectable kiss there.

Then Jiang Cheng rocks into him way too unhurriedly to be in such a public space, hoping the thin, see-through wooden decorations of the tea house and the distant balcony are enough to conceal their mischief. The sight of the city means nothing when he’s inside him. Nie Huaisang knows no glory, no conquered kingdom, no wealth or power. He only knows of him, of the loving husband making the world go around again despite the dark shadow lurking his mind and unsettling his heart.

“I’ve missed you,” Jiang Cheng mumbles, nuzzling at the back of his ear, his hips picking up his pace, their thighs bumping at every short thrust. What he bridles in speed he makes up in intensity.

“I know,” Nie Huaisang moans a bit too loudly, gauging the movements of his hand or he’ll get off way too fast. They should, they’re being so careless as if they knew no decorum or as if they were in the prime of their youth. Jiang Cheng shushes him, biting his earlobe and promising the world at every deep thrust, at every bite on his neck, at every forceful onslaught that shoves him right where he belongs until he cannot take it anymore.

Until neither of them can.

“Ah, Huaisang…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡
> 
> This was a transition chapter to introduce this part of the story, I hope it wasn't too boring! For those of you curious about how the fic is going I am currently writing Chapter 24 and it'll be the last one ╭(♡･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ You cannot believe how happy I am you guys are enjoying this story, I never intended for it to be so long, but I started writing one day and up until today, I'm still in love with them xDDD
> 
> PS: Happy married SangCheng is life ♡〜٩(^▿^)۶〜♡ 
> 
> Notes:  
> Martial art reference: [1](https://blackbeltmag.com/arts/chinese-arts/the-5-kung-fu-animal-styles-of-the-chinese-martial-arts)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ε=ε=ε=ε=ε” “(/*’-‘*)/

Evergreen trees shield the pagoda where Lan Xichen enjoys a hot tea while waiting for Nie Huaisang. The wooden structure is a private tea house in the middle of a beautiful garden even if the winter hasn’t allowed the spring to come through yet. He stayed until the end of the competition and watched in the company of Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng how Nie Shengzai came out victorious in his last fight. Champion for the second consecutive year, lauded by the elders of the Nie Clan and admired by the disciples and his peers. But before they could exchange more than a polite greeting, Nie Shengzai and the contenders left the arena to rest for the banquet.

Lan Xichen suspects this is one of the small occasions he will spend in solitude. Tonight will take place a feast, and he has to prepare himself for the ruckus of the celebrations in the Qinghe Nie style. While in the Gusu Lan Clan, celebrations are mild, silent, and offer no more food than an everyday meal, he is sure tonight there will be rivers of strong, red wine and mountains of food until the guests get sick of eating.

The heaters of the tea house keep him warm from the breeze that seeps through the structure, and he finds the crackling noise comforting. Panels carved in geometrical motifs enclose the place, the dark wood contrasting with the red and gold decorations. His guqin and Shuoyue lay by his side. To his sect, carrying one’s instrument is as important as carrying one’s weapon because they are both. Nie Huaisang asked him to wait for him here while enjoying the wintry scenery and a spiced concoction typical of Qinghe.

Shielded from prying eyes, Lan Xichen sips at his tea as he nestles a grey, round cup in his hand, but his eyes flick to the entrance of the pagoda. Someone pushes aside the see-through curtains and peeks inside. “Sect Leader Lan.” The smile makes his heart leap. “I knew you’d be here,” Nie Shengzai says with the hint of a smile in his words. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Lan Xichen leaves the cup on the table, following him with his eyes. Nie Shengzai wears thick layers in the Nie colors to protect him from the cold. His face and the skin on his hands flushed in pink, so he guesses he just came out of a hot bath that washed away the exertions of the morning. He should be resting, and yet here he is. “Huaisang?” Lan Xichen arches an eyebrow at him and serves a cup of tea he knows Nie Shengzai won’t drink.

“My cousin asked me to come in his place because he has to tend an issue regarding the banquet,” he explains, and Lan Xichen graces him with an all-knowing smile.

“And you were burdened with the task of keeping me company?” Lan Xichen jests while he occupies the bamboo seat across the table.

“I volunteered.” Nie Shengzai rests his arm over a bent knee and cocks his head at him.

“I’m sure you did.” Lan Xichen naively thought he’d be over the effects of his sweet, youthful features smiling at him, but after he watched him fighting today, he’s even more infatuated with every little gesture related to him. He recognizes so much of Nie Mingjue and yet there’s no furrow between his thick eyebrows, no bitter smile, no weight over his shoulders. Lan Xichen wants to find out more of who he is behind his heated gaze and smug smile, torturing himself while trying to find a piece of Nie Mingjue in this world.

Nie Shengzai clears his throat, meeting Lan Xichen’s eyes. “I couldn’t say goodbye before we left the Cloud Recesses,” he says. After he woke up the next morning, the fever had disappeared and he had a vague memory of speaking nonsense to Lan Xichen. He couldn’t recall their conversation, but he had no doubt he had said something inappropriate given his absence when they left.

“I hope you didn’t find my absence impolite,” Lan Xichen says. “I secluded myself for cultivation.”

“It’s not a reproach.” Nie Shengzai smiles. “I would like to thank you for taking care of me and apologize if I said or did…”

“Shengzai.” Lan Xichen smiles and his expression instantly relaxes. “My burdens are my own.”

“I’m glad you came.” Nie Shengzai rests a hand on the table as if he wanted to reach out to him and couldn’t because of an invisible barrier. A barrier Lan Xichen swathes himself with for so many years now it seems unbreachable. “Can I say I’ve missed you?”

Lan Xichen averts his gaze, staring at how close their hands are and how far they seem in his mind. “It’s been only a few weeks.”

“I’ve still missed your company.” 

A whisper barely audible over the crackling of the heaters, but that reaches Lan Xichen’s heart in ways no other words would. He’s been missed, cared for, not by a member of his family but by a dear friend that reminds him life has still so much to offer. His fingers lift and brush gingerly Nie Shengzai’s hand. He faces his palm upward, returning the gesture. Slightly warm and clammy; he’s nervous. Lan Xichen glances at him behind long, feathery lashes and smiles, and Nie Shengzai feels as if he had been struck by the sun itself.

But all of a sudden, Lan Xichen withdraws his hand and sighs. “Congratulations are in order,” he says. “Your performance in the contest was outstanding.” Nie Shengzai lets out a hearty chuckle, relieved that things between them have not changed. As long as he sees a glimpse of hope in those unreachable eyes, he won’t give up.

“I was distracted,” he teases. “But I have no rival in my sect.” That cocky smile melts many hearts, Lan Xichen is sure of it; his own included.

“Your determination in the way you fight is your strength,” Lan Xichen says. “But,” he adds, ready to point out his weaknesses too, “your cockiness almost costs you the title.”

“A blunder,” Nie Shengzai quips. “My shixiong was good but not as good as me.”

“One moment you seemed blinded, careless, and the next you were unpredictable.”

“Fighting is like breathing,” he says.

Lan Xichen squints his eyes at him. “Chifeng-zun used to say that,” he says, shaking his head, his lips stretched in a half-smile. “You know the only one combining the tiger and the dragon style was him, do you?”

Nie Shengzai sighs as if defeated by an enemy he cannot even fight. “I’ve been told, but I have mastered what my heart desired even though I knew Chifeng-zun honed the same fighting styles. Did I want to be like him?” His gaze gets lost in his own hand as he fidgets with his cup of lukewarm tea. “Sometimes I feel I cannot live up to his shadow, others I believe I could, and most of the time I know I can’t hold a candle to him.” _Especially_ _in your eyes_ , he thinks but refrains from saying. Self-loathing is not a suitable trait for a future sect leader. “Did you… watch him win?”

“Several times,” Lan Xichen says and finishes his tea. “But I have enjoyed watching you fight in ways I never thought I would.” He paints a sweet smile on Nie Shengzai’s face with the unexpected praise. “Dage was so ruthless while fighting, always under a dark shadow, worsened by the war, but you rejoice in it as if it was second nature to you.” Lan Xichen locks eyes with Nie Shengzai. “Watching you today was like watching him in his best years. I won’t lie, you two are so alike sometimes I fear I replace his smile with yours in my memories.” A subtle blush spreads on his cheeks, and Lan Xichen realizes he has voiced out the truths of his heart when he shouldn’t. “It’s like seeing him in you but unharmed, carefree, and happy.” Nie Shengzai’s sad smile breaks his heart, as if he knew who his heart wants; as if he had figured out Nie Mingjue is an immovable force that hoards his soul and won’t share a single piece of him.

Nie Shengzai stands, rounding the table. For a brief moment, Lan Xichen fears he has offended him somehow. Perhaps he’s beyond tired of people telling him how alike they are, how he acts like him, fights like him. Coming from him, it must have hurt twice as much. “I wanted to show you something now that you’re here,” he says, stretching a hand at Lan Xichen.

“Hm?”

“In my chambers, come.” Lan Xichen takes his hand as he hoists himself up. Cold fingers meet again the oh-so-missed warmth of Nie Shengzai’s skin, and a frisson runs through his spine, his stomach curling as if he were falling off a cliff. He squeezes his hand and drowns in those almost black eyes that sparkle every time they look at him.

“Wait,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean… you are you, and I…” It’s been so long since he couldn’t find the words to explain what his heart covets. He wants to say he means well, that he finds endearing every single tidbit of Nie Mingjue he sees in him, but that he also has fallen for every trait genuine in him and unmarred by hate, grudges, and the harshness of life. Deep in his heart, Lan Xichen knows he cannot cover his lies with smiles, not with him. Is it possible to love Nie Mingjue and forgive himself for loving him still after his death, and also for loving Nie Shengzai? At that thought, he gasps, ashamed by his unmoving lips and tied-up tongue.

Nie Shengzai takes his hand and places it over his chest. His heart thumps, but his eyes never cease to pin him in place. Lan Xichen notes his lips when Nie Shengzai wets them with a flick of his tongue; perhaps he’s taller than him, the perfect size to mold his mouth in the shape of love. His heart seems to mimic his own and race at the same relentless pace. “May I call you Xichen?”

“You may.” He smiles like he hasn’t in days, in weeks, in months, in a life without him.

But he smiles.

 

Nie Shengzai’s chambers are ample and austere, with scarce decorations. Everything here has a purpose, or it doesn’t exist, except the sword hanging from the wall. It caught his eye from the moment he entered. Through a latticework, Lan Xichen glimpses a corner of a wooden bed and mussed sheets draping down the floor in disarray. He glances at Nie Shengzai with an expression of amusement all over.

“I have no tea to offer you.” Nie Shengzai realizes he should have prepared something instead of rushing into his chambers. Lan Xichen’s pristine presence here sets a lump in his throat. He stands in the middle of his room, eyeing the space where he rests and forgets about his day, a place reserved just for him. Nie Shengzai clears his throat.

“I just had tea,” he quips.

“Please.” Nie Shengzai beckons him to sit. Removing his guqin from his back, Lan Xichen kneels, his garments billowing and slowly settling around him. The tea table seems unused and pristine new, and he suspects Nie Shengzai spends more time in the training fields than in his own bedchambers. He follows him with his eyes while he grabs the saber on the wall and sits by his side.

“Can you…?” Nie Shengzai shakes his head, tugging at the hilt. The sword remains sheathed as if it were fused with its scabbard. “I see. May I?” Nie Shengzai hands him the blade, and Lan Xichen places it in front of him on the table.

The weapon is longer than any conventional saber; few men would have the strength or the swordsmanship to wield it, but that is not an issue to Nie Shengzai. The glided exterior shines and reflects the light almost like a mirror while the background decorations are plated in a red as deep as newly shed blood. His fingers trail the hilt and the delicate scales engraved there. There’s no doubt this is a spiritual weapon forged in the heavens. The head of the dragon is so daintily crafted it takes him aback. Lan Xichen’s curiosity spikes when he imagines how glorious it would look in the hands of Nie Shengzai in the midst of battle, how it would slice dead, undead, or ghost and would banish them from this world.

“It’s outstandingly beautiful,” Lan Xichen whispers more for the image in his mind than the sword itself.

“And useless if I can’t wield it,” Nie Shengzai retorts.

Lan Xichen turns about to face him, his hands over his knees. “Did you keep your promise of not harming the Yazi and secure the welfare of the mountain?”

“I honored my word to the best of my knowledge,” Nie Shengzai says. Advised by Nie Huaisang, they set a maze array around the perimeter of the forest enclosing the mountain, preventing other cultivators from venturing inside to disturb its peace. The area was taken out the hunting domains of the Unclean Realm too. Upon Lan Xichen’s pensive silence he speaks again. “I am sure, it can’t be.”

“I believe you,” he says. “But I’m intrigued.” A half-smile curls the corner of his mouth upward. “And so are you or you wouldn’t have brought me here.”

“Perhaps the saber isn’t the reason I did so.” His voice drops to a suggestive whisper and Lan Xichen’s stomach curls at the unabashed flirting. He’s not used to it when he should be. Nie Shengzai scoots closer, the rustling of fabric prickling all the little hairs at his nape. “But there’s more.” He smiles smugly as if pleased by the closeness.

“So, tell me.” Lan Xichen’s straight expression reveals nothing of his thumping heart as he dives into those brown, tantalizing eyes for longer than his brain advises him to.

“I believe the saber is the vessel of a spirit.”

“What makes you believe that?”

“A hunch?” Nie Shengzai shrugs, and Lan Xichen chuckles. “I had a dream.” Suddenly, the first thing that comes to his mind are those shameful, heated dreams he has about Lan Xichen, and his mouth goes dry, hoping his face isn’t as red as the heat on his cheeks hints.

“About the weapon?”

“Yes,” he sighs, stifling a smile. “I could wield the saber in my dreams, and a voice was telling me to wake up.”

“To wake up?” Lan Xichen frowns.

“It sounded more like a warning than a suggestion.” Nie Shengzai strokes his chin as he ponders how to put into words the imagery of his dream. He can recall it as if he had just woken up, and it hasn’t left his mind for long since that night. “I am in the middle of a field of white iris, saber in hand. A red glare comes out of it as if it was on fire.” Nie Shengzai pauses, staring into Lan Xichen’s unreadable expression. “Then the iris turn red as if they were bleeding and I hear an unfamiliar laugh behind me along with a deep, raspy voice urging me to wake up, although now that I think about it, it was more like a command.”

“And what happens next?” Lan Xichen murmurs.

“I wake up.” Nie Shengzai sighs. “I had this dream two nights ago and I can still remember it from the beginning to the end with painstaking detail. The place was so up high, the sky almost a crimson night.”

“Do you know what could have triggered such a dream?” Spirits can communicate with the living through dreams. The Qinghe Nie Sect has reported cases of members haunted by their saber spirits in their dreams due to the bond of both souls, so he imagines that’s why Nie Shengzai reached that final conclusion.

“No, that I know of.” Nie Shengzai runs his thumb over the head the dragon, knowing the weapon hides more than it seems.

“Why a spirit?”

“The voice. It was like the Yazi, older… and tired.”

“Let’s see what they have to say,” Lan Xichen says, unfolding the white cloth that protects his guqin. Nie Shengzai slides the sword forward, making room for the instrument on the table. He has a grin on his face, excited by the prospect of confirming or denying his suspicions.

Lan Xichen places his hands over the seven strings and plucks at two at the same time. The harmonic reverberates in the room. Inquiry will provide some answers even if the technique has its limitations. If there’s a spirit contained in the sword, he’ll be able to communicate with them and infer their intentions through the answers. They won’t be able to lie or stay silent. The same notes ring again while he hovers his hands over the guqin. The spirit has answered the calling of Inquiry and is willing.

“It’s a dragon spirit,” Lan Xichen gasps.

“I knew it,” Nie Shengzai murmurs, his eyes fixed on Lan Xichen’s hands. “What do they say?”

“What would you like to ask?” Lan Xichen smiles widely at Nie Shengzai’s impatience.

“Am I worthy of the weapon?” The combination of notes seems like it would take forever, and Nie Shengzai’s heart thumps as he waits for an answer. After just a moment, a single high-pitched note comes out of the guqin.

“Yes.”

“When will I be able to wield the sword?”

Lan Xichen plays the question as it is, knowing the qin language is tricky and translating the wishes of an old dragon spirit may confuse them more than enlighten their curiosity. “When you awaken…” The answer cannot get lost in translation, but as Lan Xichen expected, offers little information.

“What does that even mean?” Nie Shengzai frowns, and the way his eyebrows knit and little creases show up on his forehead make him look even more like Nie Mingjue. “Ask them for their name, at least I’ll know how to call my saber.”

The Qin language comes so naturally to Lan Xichen as speaking. He and Lan Wangji have no match in the Gusu Lan Clan mastering this technique, although Lan Sizhui follows them closely. The notes disperse and, after a few moments, the strings pluck by themselves guided by the dragon spirit desires. “Dreamcatcher,” Lan Xichen says.

“Dreamcatcher…” Nie Shengzai repeats with the hint of a smile. “Were they the voice of my dreams?”

A single low-pitched note. “No.”

“Then whom was it?”

“It could have been your own subconscious trying to wake you up from the nightmare, but I’ll ask.” Lan Xichen formulates the question as precisely as he can, knowing the answer could be an unintelligible name. The answer, however, comes clear. “They don’t know.” Nie Shengzai sighs, trying to make sense of the dream, and the voice. “Perhaps we’re not asking the right questions.”

“The dragon spirit was there in my dream, I could feel it the same way I can tell someone else was,” he mumbles, staring at Lan Xichen’s hands waiting for the next question. “Ask them if they can see my dreams.” The same high-pitched note than before.

“Yes.”

“We could be asking them for hours but if they don’t know who was that voice or what the dream means it’ll be for nothing,” Nie Shengzai mutters. “Perhaps it was just a dream.”

“Your own desires to wield the sword mixed with your memories could be the reason you had such a dream,” Lan Xichen says. “Did you feel unsafe?”

“Like I had somewhere to be, and I was awfully late,” Nie Shengzai mumbles, staring listlessly at the saber that promises a power he’s undeserving of. “I had a feeling of loss and longing in my heart mixed with a wave of anger that didn’t vanish upon waking up. I do believe it was a warning of some kind.” He takes a lungful of air and turns to meet Lan Xichen’s eyes.

“You should carry this sword with you, and bond with the spirit,” Lan Xichen says. “If they have consciousness, perhaps they need to know their master first.”

“I will, from now on.” Nie Shengzai smiles at how Lan Xichen follows an admirable, simplistic logic to most problems in which there are no right answers to get or questions to make. If he ever becomes a sect leader, he would like to be like him. “Is there anything else you’d like to ask my saber?”

Lan Xichen smiles, and his fingers move graciously, plucking the strings while his lips stretch in an even wider smirk. A single note is the answer, and it elicits a faint chuckle that confuses Nie Shengzai.

“That was a yes?” Lan Xichen nods. “What did you ask them?” Nie Shengzai scoots closer again, his knee bumping into Lan Xichen’s thigh. As if the closeness would coerce an answer from him.

“It was a question for myself,” Lan Xichen teases, gracing him with a playful smile.

“If you won’t tell, at least play for me.” Nie Shengzai whispers the words with such a sweet smile that it leaves Lan Xichen out of air. His hands hover over the guqin again, and the next heartbeat, he plucks at the strings goaded on by him. He never plays for pleasure anymore, but how to say no to those brown, sparkling eyes? It’s an old melody he has played countless times in the past, one that brings bittersweet memories but that his fingers know by heart. Why this song that means so much to them came to his mind when Nie Shengzai asked?

The tunefulness resembles the ones his past self would play, finding joy in the instrument, and the notes, and it’s all because Nie Shengzai wished him to. Only Nie Mingjue asked him to play for him when they were alone and shielded from the world. “I feel like I recognize this song,” he says while the tune fills the background. “As if I had listened to it already.”

“It’s just a simple composition,” Lan Xichen says, while his unhurried fingers pull out noises from his instrument. “I’ve liked it since I was a kid, it was one of the first songs I learned.”

“It’s beautiful.” Nie Shengzai smiles, mesmerized with his perfect posture, with how his hair gathers at his back, two white strands lost in a sea of black hair. It’s like his hands move in slow motion over the strings, selecting the right ones every time to make his heart beat faster and his mouth go drier. In an irrepressible impulse, Nie Shengzai slides behind Lan Xichen, noting how his back stiffens and his breath catches up in his chest. The melody halts abruptly. “Why did you stop?” Nie Shengzai says, a hint of smugness in his voice.

“What are you doing?” Lan Xichen says, sensing his warmth behind him and wanting to lean back into it to see how it feels.

“I’m learning, don’t stop, please.” Nie Shengzai glances at the guqin over his shoulder, pretending to be interested in his hands. Turning about, Lan Xichen gets a glimpse at his playful smile. “It’s not the first time someone plays this trick on you, huh?” A withheld smile finds his way to his lips.

“Behave.” Lan Xichen chides, a gentle blush spreading on his cheeks. “Here.” He takes his hand and places it over the guqin, and Nie Shengzai mimics him with both, enclosing him. Long strands hair brush gingerly his cheek. Guiding his fingers, Lan Xichen places them over the right strings. “Not too harshly.” Nie Shengzai obeys, and a dubiously correct harmonic comes out of the instrument.

“That didn’t sound too good,” he mumbles, and Lan Xichen gives a faint chuckle.

“Your talents lay elsewhere, Shengzai,” he teases, but then he cannot help but caress the back of his hands with his fingertips, and Nie Shengzai turns his palms up. “You wouldn’t have the patience nor the hands for this instrument,” he says.

“I am very patient and I don’t give up easily,” Nie Shengzai says, his breath brushing his cheek. His heart beats faster, but he interlaces his hands with Lan Xichen’s. “I can be very persistent.”

“Rough hands, good for the saber.” Nie Shengzai rests his chin over his shoulder as he stares at their hands exploring each other. The mere sight of them palm against palm surreal.

“Yours are perfection.” Nie Shengzai’s voice pours directly into his ear. His thumb traces the underside of his wrist, his fingers thread with his as missing puzzle pieces. Softer than he imagined, warm, strong, reassuring even if his heart gallops against his better judgment. How many years has it been since someone touched him like this? Lan Xichen leans back into his chest, promising to himself that it’s just a moment of weakness.

“Your heart beats faster,” Lan Xichen whispers and Nie Shengzai hums, unable to deny the evidence.

One of his hands trails up his forearm and then it moves the length of his hair. He reveals a long, slender neck; jade skin softer than the clouds, he presumes. Nie Shengzai cocks his head, his lips ready to press a kiss there on forbidden territory.

“Behave,” Lan Xichen murmurs almost inaudibly as if not even himself would want to hear that word or his own thoughts.

“Believe me, I am behaving…” His breath puffs against his skin and sends a frisson through his spine. “Can we skip the banquet?” He aches to touch more than that slender hand fused with his own, he wants to push his lips on the fluttering pulse point on his neck, feel the softness he can only dream about, the warmth he knows it’s there, the dampness of his own breath prickling his flesh.

“I’m afraid not,” Lan Xichen says. “It’s in your honor.” He laughs at Nie Shengzai’s childish sigh of disappointment, but he gasps when his hand wraps around his waist in a delectable, possessive way that brings all his feelings to the surface. He should stand, leave, forget this nonsense, but Nie Shengzai lurks his dreams at night and his mind during the day. He’s a haven for the pain he has felt these past thirty years, a balm to his soul.

“Your laugh is a song I would want to hear every day.” Nie Shengzai nuzzles behind his ear, inhaling a lungful of his scent; sweet and intoxicating, so out his reach. He fears to close his eyes and wake up in a lonely bed. He cares nothing about boundaries anymore, about rank or position, he knows only of him and the force that pulls him like gravity. “What did you ask the saber spirit that made you smile like that?” he whispers.

Lan Xichen turns about, reclined over his strong chest. They are so close their noses almost touch, but not close enough to succumb to what he cannot taste for the sake of Nie Mingjue and the love he still nurses deep in his heart. This could be a fleeting romance leaving broken hearts behind when it could have been avoided, and Lan Xichen is determined to avoid it. “Tell me,” Nie Shengzai insists, a strong palm pressed against his stomach.

“I asked if I was in your dreams too,” Lan Xichen whispers.

Nie Shengzai turns beet-red, his forehead touching his shoulder as he tries to hide there his embarrassment. “And did the answer please you?” His voice comes out muffled. He tightens the arm around his body, their hands intertwined and refusing to let go. Lan Xichen hovers his single free hand over his instrument, a smile curling the corners of his mouth upward. A single high-pitched note resounds from the guqin and paints a triumphant smile on Nie Shengzai’s lips.

 _Yes_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! (*＾▽＾)／  
> Aren't they cute together? <333 Xichen please, throw the poor guy a bone... xDDD I hope you're all hungry for the next chapter *literally*
> 
> See y'all next Friday! ~ヾ(＾∇＾)


	18. Chapter 18

A gold crown with an elaborated design rests on top of his head and encloses his half, up-do. Nie Huaisang smiles at his reflection, picking up from his lap the long, cream ribbon that will secure it in place. The banquet in honor of Nie Shengzai will start soon and will last well into the night. The Qinghe Nie Sect has gone through rough years in the past, but a much-awaited joy and the willingness for celebrations came back when the sect thrived because of him and had a future because of his cousin. _Dage wo_ _uld be proud of him_ , he wonders with a sad smile, his gaze turning to admire a particular object hanging from a wall of his bedroom.

Here or in Lotus Pier, their chambers are full of paintings, hand fans with different motifs and landscapes, and all the seemingly useless and beautiful things he always wanted to have. Many in the Unclean Realm, Nie Huaisang painted them long ago. He never considered himself talented or gifted in the arts, but he loved to put time and effort into every piece; time that his big brother always considered wasteful. Calligraphy, painting, writing, arts he couldn’t cultivate with but that planted the seed of love in his heart.

A tattered folding fan catches his eye. Too small for an adult, old and yellowish by time, but that still brings a nostalgic smile to his lips. His mother gave it to him when he turned five. Nie Huaisang remembers playing with it all day, as happy as ever with that simplistic, little treasure that would hang from his wrist, make a satisfying noise when opening and closing, and offer an absolutely unneeded breeze. When he was showing it to Nie Mingjue, it broke in his little hands and tears welled in his eyes. His big brother kept telling him it was just a fan, that it was replaceable, but Nie Huaisang wouldn’t budge no matter what.

He cried himself to sleep that night, ashamed to have broken his mother’s gift and angered because his big brother wouldn’t understand the meaning of that precious, tiny treasure. But when he woke up in the morning, he found the folding fan near his pillow. It was opened, glued together, and even at that age, by the sloppy crafting job, he knew it had been Nie Mingjue. Nie Huaisang scooted toward his room and jumped on his bed to thank him, overjoyed by how his big brother had made him so happy with such a little gesture. He could never use it again, but he kept it all those years, sometimes under his pillow, others hanging from the wall as a token of their brotherly bond.

When did they grow apart? As he grew up, they drifted apart. Nie Huaisang wants to blame the burdens strangling Nie Mingjue, the war, the responsibilities that now lay over his shoulders. But they never shared them; he should have been a caring brother instead of living under his protection and careless of the dangers of the outside world. He was a mastermind ignoring what he didn’t want to hear. When their father died, he should have helped him. Nie Mingjue couldn’t rely on him as he would have wanted. All the efforts his brother put into compelling him to cultivate, to wield the saber, it was for his own protection and not made-up expectations in his mind about what he needed to become.

That’s the one thing he’d change about the past. His heart would be the same, pursuing his way and what made him feel alive and wholesome. He cannot change his heart about cultivation, but he left Nie Mingjue alone fighting a war on his own, dealing with Jin Guangyao, trying to be happy and renouncing to everything for the sake of his sect; for the sake of his little brother. The distance between them seemed insurmountable and yet Nie Huaisang believes a hug would have fixed so many mistakes and heal so many wounds. He firmly believed it was too late to do right by them and went on with his tantrums and his obliviousness. It was easier to ignore the fateful illness that awaited his brother around the corner than own up to his childishness.

If he could, he’d tell him; he would have been helpful in some other way; he would’ve trained and cultivated and perhaps none of this would’ve happened. Or maybe it would have, he will never know. A deep sigh leaves his lungs, and he averts his gaze from that tiny fan from his past that gives him a heartache and drowns him in melancholy. He misses Nie Mingjue, especially in nights like these. His big brother was keen on celebrations, honoring the customs and drinking and eating as much as he could. It was one of the rare occasions in which he could see him laughing out loud and drunk. Nie Huaisang naively believed he would always have his brother by his side, protecting him, leading the sect, being the unnerving big brother he was.

“Can you let your husband in?” Jiang Cheng says to bring him out of his reverie. He stretches a hand to Nie Huaisang and hoists him up to his feet. “You look so handsome tonight.” His arms link around his waist knowingly, finding the perfect place to hug him close, his hands resting on the small of his back.

“Only tonight?” Nie Huaisang pouts, but a treacherous smile betrays him. Jiang Cheng kisses the corner of his mouth, humming softly at the familiar taste of his husband. “I’ll never be ready if you don’t stop, you are worse than an insatiable lover.”

“I can wait until later,” he whispers.

Nie Huaisang winds his arms around his shoulders, standing on his tiptoes to level their mouths and drink another sultry rumble from Jiang Cheng. “If you just let me do your hair someday,” he says in a wheedling tone, but unluckily for him, after twenty years of marriage, Jiang Cheng is immune to it.

“I did. Once,” he retorts. “And I’d rather do it myself.”

“So mean…” The playful exchange vanishes in a deep sigh, and Jiang Cheng notes it. Nie Huaisang has been wistful all day, and he cannot figure out if it has to do with the celebrations, Nie Mingjue’s ghost looming over him, or the bad news -or lack of news- he brought earlier.

“Are you still uneasy?” As if he needed to ask.

“No.” Jiang Cheng arches an eyebrow at him. “Maybe…” Nie Huaisang purses his lips, fixing the collars of his jianxu. “Something’s wrong.”

“There was nothing up there, A-Sang.”

“I need to figure this out.” The red glow of the token suggests something has happened at Bayingzhen mountain. He was never fond of coincidences.

“We can open the cave,” Jiang Cheng says, a furrow settled deep in between his eyebrows.

“I don’t want to open that cave ever again,” Nie Huaisang sobs, pressing his cheek on Jiang Cheng’s chest as if all the evil in the world would disappear when he’s swaddled in his arms.

“We should tell Zewu-jun, and find Wei Wuxian.”

“And alarm them for no reason?” Nie Huaisang meets his eyes and shakes his head. “Xichen-ge has moved on, how could I torment him again before we even know what’s going on.”

Jiang Cheng sighs and kisses his forehead. As much as he searched, there was nothing at the peak. The cave was sealed as they left it twenty years ago, the stone beasts functioning and guarding the entrance. He won’t underestimate the dangers contained inside, so much could have happened these past years, and he doesn’t believe in coincidences either. They usually cost innocent lives. “Whatever is up there cannot leave the peak, the barrier we set wouldn’t allow it.”

“I know.” Nie Huaisang’s countenance seems to relax. “And there’s nothing we can do about it tonight.”

“I’ll send a patrol first thing in the morning,” Jiang Cheng decides. “We’ll watch over the place closely. Would that please you?” Nie Huaisang nods and steals a kiss from his lips.

“What would I do without you?”

“The same, but you’d be bored to death,” Jiang Cheng quips. After a shared smile, they leave their rooms and head into the cold of the night. 

Strolling through a path lightened up by paper lanterns, they head to the main hall, arm in arm. The guests wait outside until their arrival, warmed up by a spiritual barrier that protects them from the harsh cold of the night. Rounding a corner, Nie Shengzai joins them. He has gathered his hair in a half-top knot and wears a simplistic golden crown, matching the hem of his garments. Nie Huasiang knows him well enough to see he has put an effort in his appearance tonight and suspects it has to do more with Lan Xichen’s presence than being the champion. He also sports an air of youthful hope that anyone would miss except for him. “Sect Leader Jiang. Sect Leader Nie,” he greets, walking abreast of them, a withheld smile on his lips.

“Did you enjoy your afternoon tea?” Nie Huaisang asks, his arm linked around Jiang Cheng’s, a fan wide open in the other to conceal his playful smirks.

“Very much,” Nie Shengzai says, his eyes on the stone path ahead.

“I thought you two would arrive together.” Jiang Cheng snorts softly at Nie Huaisang’s remark, and Nie Shengzai clears his throat distractedly.

“I… no, like, why would we?” He shakes off his nerves with a chortle. 

After the moments they shared today, he feels blessed. Perhaps there is hope for what he thought were unrequited feelings for Lan Xichen. The Jade of Lan may be not as unreachable as he believed. They conversed until deep in the evening; until the hour of the banquet approached and the sky started to darken. He listened to his music, enthralled, with his lips slightly curled upward and a soft blush on his cheeks. Nie Shengzai took in his beauty with unashamed eyes that riveted all over his sharp, clean features. If he hadn’t already admitted to himself he was in love, he did today. Utterly besotted by the man of his dreams.

He regrets awfully not having kissed his neck when he had been so close and so ready to confess his love in the shape of a collar of kisses. The thought prickles all the little hairs at his nape and churns his stomach. As if a current of spiritual energy coursed through him at the mere thought of their hands intertwined or their hearts galloping abreast. He has a strange feeling of knowing him deeper than he should as if they were old acquaintances meeting after many years.

Lan Xichen escaped his chambers politely, retiring to check on the Lan disciples. Nie Shengzai knew he was overwhelmed by the situation, so was him. A minute longer there and he would have painted his lips in red and pink with a thousand kisses one after the other; without drawing breath, not minding the hour or the consequences. If he had let him…

“A-Ling will arrive tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng mentions to Nie Huaisang.

“Ah, good, I can’t wait to see the twins again,” he says.

“Cousin,” Nie Shengzai asks in a whisper as if the thought had startled him suddenly. “Where will Sect Leader Lan sit?”

“By your side, Shengzai,” Nie Huaisang teases as he waves his folding fan unhurriedly. “He’s an honored guest in our home. I hope you don’t mind the hassle to tend to him.”

Nie Shengzai blushes, clearing his throat and trying to mask how pleased he is. “I was going to suggest that.”

“I’m sure you were.” Nie Huaisang graces him with an all-knowing glance, hoping his cousin doesn’t fall face-first on the ground pursuing Lan Xichen’s heart so unabashedly. He knows him enough to know there’s no place for anyone in his heart but Nie Mingjue, and a youthful resemblance won’t be enough to make Lan Xichen break the vows he has imposed on himself.

As they arrive at the entrance of the hall, the ongoing conversations turn into a rumbling murmur barely indiscernible. Nie Huaisang smiles when he spots Lan Xichen shining like the moon under a sky that knows no stars or heavenly bodies yet. He grasps Nie Shengzai’s sleeve so he leans down. “Go and be a good host, remember this is in your honor.”

“Hm,” Nie Shengzai answers, besotted with the sight of him and the subtle smile that wants to break free and doesn’t.

At the sight of his seamless beauty, a sentiment of longing invades his heart, a feeling of knowing yet being oblivious, of missing what he hasn’t yet had, of hankering what he hasn’t even tasted. No, he has never felt like this for anyone in his life but the feeling comes so naturally to him it scares him. It had to be him among all the people he has met in his scarce twenty years of life. He already knows there won’t be anyone warming his heart as he does. Lan Xichen has pierced through his soul like a well-aimed arrow and he would willingly let him pierce a thousand more if he stayed there.

But he’s so far away, unreachable, Lan Xichen belongs to the heavens and to Chifeng-zun and he’s nothing more than an enamored youth trying to climb a mountain way too high and way too heavenly. But Nie Shengzai won’t give up that easily, he never does. He’ll wipe away the lonesome air in Lan Xichen and will replace it with the many smiles that outshine the sun and isn’t a fair competition to the moon and the stars. They belong in his lips.

Inside the glamorous hall constructed in sturdy rock and noble wood, Qinghe Nie Sect banners hang from the ceiling and frame the table of honor. The big chamber holds a myriad of long, wooden tables aligned in succession to accommodate a hundred commensals that swiftly follow the servants’ guidance and stand in front of their places. Cultivators and their families, guests, and members of the Nie Clan enjoyed the martial arts competition and now are ready to feast and celebrate the victory of Nie Shengzai. Tomorrow starts the official Conference and the martial art demonstration that will last three days. The Qinghe Nie Sect is well known for this, and it has turned into one of the unavoidable events of the year. The contest was an appetizer to receive the guests.

Nie Shengzai sits at the head of the table, and once the cupbearer serves him a cup brimming with wine and he downs it with a satisfying gulp, he invites Sect Leader Nie to have a seat, and then the rest of the guests. The room suddenly fills with the noise of the rustling of fabric and murmurs as they make themselves comfortable in their bamboo seats. Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng sit at his right while Lan Xichen sits primly at his left, accustomed to the formalities of the banquets. Albeit in the Cloud Recesses, they are much more silent and collected, and he knows soon, food and drink will cram the tables.

Once everyone is comfortably seated, Nie Shengzai serves a cup of tea for Lan Xichen, and he thanks him tapping his knuckles on the table. Nie Huaisang does the same for Jiang Cheng, and everyone else starts serving the person at their side; an old custom and a sign of respect.

Soon afterward, an endless line of servants enters the hall carrying a myriad of dishes and pots containing the best of the region. Food made with wild ingredients, herbs, and vegetables that you could find only in the mountainous Qinghe and the towns nearby. Everything has a particular, wholesome taste that comforts the soul and fills your belly. Tasty and sour, the richness of the pork mixed with the sweetness of honey, mushrooms and different fungi to go with, and the best rice and potatoes as the ideal accompaniment. Everyone’s mouths water when the servants place the dishes on the tables, piling plates and trays until no one can see the dark hue of the wood.

Big pots of stew crown every table as the guests gasp in awe. Delectable steam oozes out of them, awakening the bellies of the presents as if the current display wasn’t enough. Cooked over many hours at a low temperature, the seasonal ingredients mesh together in a harmonious savor characteristic of the peasant food of the mountains. Wild carrots, bamboo shoots, fungi, aromatic herbs, the greasy taste of pork. A healthful stew perfect for a late wintry night like this.

Wanting to please his surely famished guests, Nie Huaisang serves a pork dumpling to Nie Shengzai and invites the rest of the table to eat. In their eagerness of trying every single dish, they start serving each other and Lan Xichen finds a couple of undesired pieces of mapo tofu in his plate. The hot pepper sticks in the outside and drips an intense red sauce. He smiles politely at the maiden on his left to thank her.

“Want me to steal that from you?” Nie Shengzai whispers while serving more tea for him.

“How did you…?” Lan Xichen chuckles softly when he winks at him and discreetly serves him a piece of red-cooked chicken with the thick end of his chopsticks. Turning them around, he steals the tofu for himself.

“I haven’t seen you touch a single spicy thing ever,” he says with a mouthful of food.

Lan Xichen answers with a smile, taking in the rich flavor of the chicken and the tender meat melting in his mouth. Their also tender encounter ended when the hour of the banquet loomed over them, but the real reason lay underneath his skin and how he couldn’t endure another second so close to him without fantasizing about the taste of his lips, the softness of his hands, or their breaths mingling after a kiss. He felt overwhelmed and ran over by the situation and the feelings bursting out of his chest. He had hoped to be wiser, to practice the so-called demeanor the Gusu Lan Clan is known for, but he failed miserably under his heated gaze, his overly caring hands, and the comforting sound of his voice.

Even now, as he peeks at him from the corner of his eye, he sees so much more than the youth he met at Phoenix Mountain. He has a big heart and not even the sternness he tries to use as a facade can conceal it. Nie Shengzai lets out a hearty chuckle and laughs along with Nie Huaisang. He’s as loud as Nie Mingjue when he’s overjoyed, as excessive in every emotion that conquers his heart at the moment whether is rage or love. Lan Xichen admired his hot-blooded temper, being ruled by his passions, and his fears even though it cost him so much. If only he were here with them, celebrating a world no longer under a threat.

Lan Xichen sets his gloomy thoughts aside; wishing Nie Shengzai were Nie Mingjue isn’t fair for neither of them. He has a family that loves him, a sect that looks up to him, a past and a future free from the anguish and the pain that ruled Nie Mingjue’s. But it’s so hard to look at him and see him in every little gesture, in the way he speaks, in the way he eats and drinks as excessively as Nie Mingjue did. In celebrations, nobody ate more than him, drank more than him or laughed more heartily than Chifeng-zun.

A different voice, a different body, gentler eyes, not a single furrow of disdain or anger and still so alike his heart shrinks when he compares them; fearful of mixing the two and being unfaithful to the love he professes for Nie Mingjue, for the love he wished he didn’t feel for Nie Shengzai.

The youth meets his saddened gaze and his smile trembles, but with a simple gesture, Lan Xichen brings it back. He pours a cup of wine for him while moving his long cuff out of the way with his other hand, and Nie Shengzai downs it in one gulp, his cheeks already flushed by the wine. That’s the beauty of young love, that you never foresee a fateful ending.

Many hours later and countless jars of wine, the conversations around the table turn tame and joyful. The few discussions about the cultivation world were drowned in wine and good food. As always, Nie Huaisang has outdone himself as a host. There’s still plenty of food over the tables, not a single dish licked clean, not a tray finished because as it was, a servant would replace it with another one brimming with food. The guests cannot stand up nor keep eating, picking at the meals here and there to honor their host.

“Congratulations, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen says and Nie Huaisang smiles back at him to thank him for the praise, his fan offering a much-needed breeze in the heated atmosphere of the celebration. “But if you excuse me, I need some fresh air.” Lan Xichen stands, glancing briefly at Nie Shengzai as he converses with some guests in a distant table. Perhaps it’s best if he slopes off discreetly instead of spoiling the end of the feast with the strike of melancholy that shrinks his heart. Lan Xichen retires, with a belly full of steamed vegetables, broth, and tofu, and unable to eat or drink anymore.

Several cultivators bow respectfully at him as he crosses the threshold of the hall. The nightly gale of the Unclean Realm slaps him unmercifully, and he exhales a white puff into the starry sky. It smells as if it were going to snow which only worsens his weeping heart, his mind engulfed by memories of him. He hopes the stroll through wintry trees and empty pagodas numbs his soul for another lonely night.

When Nie Shengzai comes back to the table, he notices Lan Xichen’s absence and slumps on his seat with a deep sigh. Nie Huaisang takes a jar of wine and serves some for him and his husband. He has to be the last one leaving the celebrations, but fortunately for him, Jiang Cheng’s company erases any dullness of his daily activities and replaces it with a pleasant silence or a sweet conversation. It’s impossible to get him to shut up about the twins or Jin Ling’s last success, and Nie Huaisang cannot blame him for it. 

His cousin’s dispirited sight doesn’t go unnoticed. “In case you’re interested, Zewu-jun left a moment ago,” he says knowingly. “Must be hard to visit the Nie Residence after so many years.”

“Since… hmm.” Nie Shengzai sips at the wine, stopping himself mid-sentence.

“Yes.” Nie Huaisang reclines on Jiang Cheng’s side, his gaze fixed on his naïve cousin and the worrisome furrow between his eyebrows. It reminds him of his big brother when he was brooding about something. “I bet Xichen-ge could use a friendly company or… your company.”

After a faint snort, Nie Shengzai downs his cup more for courage than thirst and stands. “Sect Leader Jiang. Cousin.”

“Zewu-jun always loved the sight from the south-east balcony,” Nie Huaisang quips at his cousin with a sly smile.

Jiang Cheng follows him with bleary eyes that hint he hasn’t had a good night sleep. He’d rather be in his bed with his beautiful husband than presiding the end of a successful banquet. “What are you scheming, A-Sang?” he whispers into his ear.

“It has to be him. I know it,” he confesses, the headiness of the wine intertwined with his words.

“It hurts to let them go.” Words full of love and acceptance. Even now, Jiang Cheng mourns for his sister and his parents as if it was yesterday. “Life has been kind enough to let me have you for so many years.”

“Jiang er gege…” Nie Huaisang gasps, hiding in the crook of his neck because it’s the only safe place in the world. “And many to come, I promise.”

Jiang Cheng hides a smile on his hair, kissing the crown of his head with a tenderness he never thought himself capable of. “What if you’re right? Shouldn’t Shengzai remember?”

“I think they will have to figure it out themselves,” he murmurs, his heart set, his mind rambling. “In the meantime,” Nie Huaisang lifts his chin and parts his lips, “why don’t you give us a kiss?” Jiang Cheng hides a heady smile on his husband’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ) This chapter was a challenge, I REALLY wanted to write a banquet (first time ever xD) instead of winging it, so I'm sorry if this reads slow or boring. (｡・//ε//・｡)
> 
> A while ago, I wrote two small ficlets about NHS and NMJ as kids. One of the stories is about the folding fan (with minor changes). I love so much that HC of them that I used it here as a memory from his childhood. In case you're curious: [Dage is the best!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303830) and [Fear of the Dark](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18190085)
> 
> PS: No worries, Shengzai may be a bit drunk but he's gonna chase Lan Xichen... (灬º 艸º灬)
> 
> See y'all next Tuesday! 
> 
> Banquet references: [1](https://www.goodfood.com.au/good-living/entertaining/a-guide-to-chinese-banquet-etiquette-20130204-2dv04) [2](https://www.chinahighlights.com/travelguide/chinese-food/hui-cuisine.htm) [3](https://www.chinahighlights.com/travelguide/chinese-food/eight-cuisine.htm)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ₍₍ (ง Ŏ౪Ŏ)ว ⁾⁾

The dry cold of the night is no match for the alcohol running through his veins and warming his body. Nie Shengzai strolls distractedly as if following an invisible trail. He greets the cultivators that cross his path as he gets away from the ruckus of the celebration. They will last until dawn. Following Nie Huaisang’s piece of advice, he explores the south-east balconies, hoping to find Lan Xichen on his way there. There is no plan afterward, just to find him and hopefully walk him to his chambers and share a few more moments together.

Is that all he can aspire to? Pursuing a dream that may not even come true, bridling his heart to his chest so it doesn’t jump out every time Lan Xichen smiles. Why is his laugh the most beautiful melody he has ever heard? Why is it like a sound muffled by a ton of water, familiar yet distant, urgent yet sad and filled with sentiments he hasn’t encountered yet. What does he know about unrequited love after all? About true love, soulmates, and the deep connection Lan Xichen had with Nie Mingjue. He cannot hold a candle to him, not for his people not in his heart. And yet he tries.

A smile creeps up his lips and makes him forget about the many things that could go wrong and the looming thoughts shrinking his heart when a white silhouette reflecting the moonlight catches his eye as a shooting star. Lan Xichen reclines on the wooden balustrade of a tea house, his long sleeves fluttering in the wind and gracing him with an eerie aura. The starry sky is no match for him. Nie Shengzai closes in quietly, hoping to go by unnoticed, but a single step inside and Lan Xichen turns about and meets his gaze with glazing eyes. 

“Care to join me, Shengzai?”

“If you want to be alone, I can leave,” he says.

“Come.” Lan Xichen smiles, and he forgets his own name. Nie Shengzai’s head spins as if all the wine he has drunk during the feast had decided to reach his head now. He grips the balustrade with both hands, close enough that their arms brush, sending shivers down his spine.

A sky of the darkest blue dotted with diamonds spreads before them; a familiar landscape he has admired countless times in nights like these, but not in such a good company. “This place is so up high,” Lan Xichen says, a puff of breath accompanying his words.

“Is it as you remembered?”

“The same but different,” he says. “If that makes sense.” They share a glance, the paper lanterns warming up their faces. “Back then there was a war, conflicts that persisted even after the battles ended. Your sect went through tough times, we all did.”

“History lessons taught me the times of war always come back,” Nie Shengzai says, his cheeks red and flushed by the wine, or perhaps it’s because of him. “The world is never safe from the greediness of men nor the creatures that lurk the earth.”

“We might as well do our best while we can,” Lan Xichen quips. After a merciless gust of wind, he leans into him, seeking his warmth, and is rewarded by Nie Shengzai’s caring arms bracketing him from behind.

“You’re cold,” he whispers, his broad frame shielding him from the wintry breeze, his arms touching his. Lan Xichen gasps, leaning on his chest, his head molding the crook of his neck. Perhaps he is, indeed, taller than him. “Better?” A smirk stretches his lips.

“The wine warms up your blood, Shengzai, if I had been drinking as much as you, I would be playing foolish melodies for the stars,” he retorts. A hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest, bringing way too many happy memories to the surface.

“It would’ve been rude not to drink and eat as much as I could, but I needed fresh air.” Nie Shengzai nuzzles at his hair, his hands gripping the railing with white-knuckle force. “Or maybe is just an excuse to hold you close.”

“Do you need one?” Lan Xichen smiles playfully, sure that Nie Shengzai cannot see him, but then a pair of hot-blooded hands thread around his waist, his whole length molding his back in what resembles a lover’s embrace. This kind of intimacy is so foreign to him now that Lan Xichen gasps audibly, heaving out his pride for a brief, joyful moment.

“You tell me, do I?”

“We’re being careless, this…” Lan Xichen murmurs, his hands instinctively joining Nie Shengzai’s over his stomach. He used to embrace him like this as if he were never going to let go; as if he was contented with having him in his arms and nothing else mattered. His heart melts for the youth trying so hard to get under his skin when he has already settled deep in his heart despite his best efforts to push him away.

“You’re thinking too much,” Nie Shengzai whispers into his ear. 

Lan Xichen swivels about, awfully comfortable with those skilled hands resting on the small of his back; with their chests bumping against each other, his arms huddled against a strong, muscled chest that constricts his throat and heats his blood. He wouldn’t let go so easily; he should have known.

“Shengzai…”

“Xichen.” The corner of his mouth pulls upward in an irresistible half-smile that soon turns wolfish. Even under the dim light of the lanterns and the moonlight, his intentions are purer and clearer than the glorious sun menacing to melt you in a summery day.

Nie Shengzai moves his hair to the back, relishing in its softness, in how faultlessly it frames Lan Xichen’s face. Up-close he’s even more beautiful, his eyebrows soft and straight, his skin as perfect as peerless jade, his cheeks slightly blushed. His eyes snitch every little joy or sadness, they smile or cry along with him but always accompany his mood. He wants to learn them by heart, to know what hides behind them with one quick glance, to drown in them until he sees his soul and loses track of the time. His fingers thread in a thick, soft fabric, and he moves them to the front to realize, amused, an end of a ribbon interlaces around them.

Lifting his hand to his lips, he nuzzles at the end of the white band while meeting his gaze. “Shengzai,” Lan Xichen gasps. Unable to stop him, he presses his lips on the forehead ribbon, his eyes narrowing. Nie Shengzai knows if that simplistic piece of fabric wraps around his forehead all the time even in the cold spring of the Cloud Recesses it must be important. Lan Xichen told him it means to conduct oneself, and since then, he wonders what it really implies. He doesn’t know why he felt the need to test its softness against his lips, but it is like an itch he needs to scratch; the sensation so familiar it scares him. “That’s even more disrespectful than kissing my lips.”

“Who said anything about your lips?” A smile stretches in his mouth, his fingers brushing gingerly the ribbon. “As if I would strike that kind of luck tonight… or ever.” The tangled forehead ribbon caresses his lips once more before his knuckles dare to stroke Lan Xichen’s cheek. It’s burning, and a sudden need of seeing him flustered and beet-red as a maiden in their wedding night makes his legs wobbly and his heart gallop. “But now that I have done the deed, what else can I do?”

“Apologize?” Lan Xichen gasps, his voice trembling.

Nie Shengzai leans forward, unrushed, “I am terribly sorry,” as if he knew a sudden attack would result in a failure. He knows how to pick a fight in and out of the arena, and this one will require a lot more than words. He’s fighting no threat, no living, an enemy unmatched; he’s fighting himself and worse: Nie Mingjue. His nose follows the delectable sharpness of his jawline, bumping into his earlobe. Nie Shengzai thought he was braver. “I kowtow to you in hopes you will accept my most sincere apologies,” he whispers.

“Are you used to take what you want?” He repeats the same question he asked him during their nightly encounter in Gusu. Something in him hints the answer will differ. Lan Xichen wrings the collars of his upper garments when he notes Nie Shengzai’s mouth hovering over his neck. He anticipates a kiss that doesn’t land on his skin but prickles all the hairs at his nape.

“What’s mine.” His lips press on the crook of his neck, feeling the softness of his robes on one side and the sweetness of his skin on the other.

“You are not sorry in the least,” Lan Xichen teases. The first time he was kissed, it was by a haughty brat called Nie Mingjue who felt entitled to take his mouth and he, defeated, let him. Nie Shengzai’s ragged breath puffs against his neck as if asking for permission. Lan Xichen has both hands pressed against his chest; he could push him away but he doesn’t. He slides a hand over his shoulder, sneaking underneath a mane of onyx to cradle the back of his head. “Your boldness will be your undoing,” he gasps.

“Hopefully ours...” Another kiss from those heated, young lips falls on his pulse point, the hand around his waist tightening, the other threading in his hair as if they wanted to merge in an instant. Closing his eyes to the familiar sensations coursing through him, Lan Xichen senses the hammering of Nie Shengzai’s heart against his palm. Oddly enough, it matches his own.

An oh-so-missed warmth coils down on him, melting him from the inside out while more kisses trail up the outline of his neck. Brave kisses, utterly shameless, open-mouthed sins determined to break any barrier between them. Nie Shengzai trembles, giving a kiss without thinking about the next, his lips exploring, his mouth owning, fearful to leave a mark on unmarred skin and also wishful to do so.

His lips trace the outline of his jaw, and Lan Xichen cocks his head to the side, welcoming the wet warmth of his mouth around his earlobe. If he gives in the sensations, the memory of Nie Mingjue startles him; of a kiss under the snow, of being either a tease or an unstoppable force that ran him over. Why does Nie Shengzai have to be so like him? He charms him as he would, touches him as he would, presses his lips exactly where he would. Delectable torture that awakens his body and shrinks his heart; as if being in his arms again when that’s impossible. If not for the rank difference between them, Lan Xichen is sure he would be nailed against the nearest wall and explored unabashedly by Nie Shengzai. Just like _he_ would.

“I’m not dreaming this, am I?” Lan Xichen senses Nie Shengzai’s sweet smile spreading on his cheek, their bodies molding each other as if they just fell into place. Lan Xichen lifts his hand off his chest and cups his face. Their breaths mingle in the wintry air of the night, a subtle furrow between his eyebrows. He knows that face, what he’s about to ask from him, what he desires and Lan Xichen cannot fulfill. He can almost listen to their hearts beating in unison and he drowns in guilt.

His lips have only known Nie Mingjue. He devoted his life to cultivation and nothing else until they met, and now his stomach curls as if falling off a cliff, betraying himself, Nie Mingjue, his weeping heart that still mourns for him as if it was yesterday. And yet Nie Shengzai’s lips are like a magnet he cannot fight, both their mouths drawn to each other as if fated.

“I know I’m meant to you,” Nie Shengzai whispers, their foreheads touching gently. Lan Xichen cannot stop him, he wants to listen to those words; to be desired, wanted. What would feel to be tightly wrapped in his arms without a thousand layers of clothes in between? How would the hard ridges of his muscles glide against his body; would he be like him? Unrestrained, overwhelming, like the warmth of the sun or the water in a pond, all over you in a quick dip. The mere thought clenches his stomach, his gaze drowned in the golden sea of his eyes. “Xichen, I was lost and now I’m found.”

The breeze scatters a rain of snowflakes all over them, but Lan Xichen cannot feel the cold nor answer to those words of love. Tears well in the corners of his eyes and trickle down his cheeks as an answer. His breath puffs searing hot against his mouth. Their noses bump gingerly as their mouths hover over each other, elongating a moment in time like the snowflakes drift in the wind, refusing to land on the ground.

“Shengzai,” he begs as if that would stop him; as if he wanted him to stop.

It gets hot before the kiss, it always does. They are so close, their chests heaving at the tempo of newly found love. Nie Shengzai closes his eyes and exhales his nerves as if he didn’t need his sight to find his lips. Lan Xichen traces his bottom lip with his thumb, wanting to yield to the promises mumbled in his mouth, to those dreams that wake him up drenched in sweat and thinking about him. But against his better judgment, when Nie Shengzai moves to claim his mouth as his own, his fingers slide between them, and the youth kisses them so tenderly he regrets it all in a heartbeat. It could have been just for him, this kiss, and he gave it away. As he brushes those delectable eager lips, his fingers hindering their kiss with their presence, Lan Xichen kisses them too and whispers: “I can’t.” The barrier between them trembles.

Nie Shengzai backs off, unthreading his hand from his hair and taking Lan Xichen’s hand, kissing his fingers again and then his palm, warm of being for so long against his flushed cheek. A downcast glance pins him in place, and Lan Xichen knows he will never get back the first kiss he thwarted tonight. “I know. I didn’t mean…” he babbles.

“I encouraged this,” Lan Xichen says, forcing one of those polite smiles on his lips and feeling terrible about it. “I’ll never return your feelings how you deserve.”

“I don’t care.” Nie Shengzai kisses his wrist and frees his hand and his waist. A gust of wind washes through them and both shudder once their bodies are as far as politeness requires.

“But I do.”

“Then let me in,” Nie Shengzai says, his voice dropping to a timbre of disappointment and sadness that breaks Lan Xichen’s heart. Because it’s his fault. “Let me find you behind the wall you have built, the cage you impose on yourself.” His heart aches as if he had been denied a vital right he needs to live.

“You have all your life in front of you.” Lan Xichen smiles, this time for real, a sad smile that has been a staple in his life for the past twenty years. A smile because Nie Mingjue’s soul is free from anguish, sad because they aren’t together. “I will never be able to forget him,” he whispers. The words sting in Nie Shengzai’s heart. “Chifeng-zun died and my heart with him.”

“But I…” The words die in his throat, sliding back into his shattered heart. Lan Xichen cups his face as measly consolation. _But I am here._ He leans into his hand, defeated.

“I’ll leave in the morning. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Don’t say that,” he fumes. “It was me. I was foolish.”

“You deserve better, Shengzai.” Lan Xichen sighs, his hand dropping at his side. One more minute in front of him and he’ll jump into his arms as if he were a teenager in love unafraid of the consequences. But he’s not. He’s old and weary, his heart broken for so long he cannot remember what it feels to be loved, wholesome, complete. And yet deep in his heart, Lan Xichen confesses to himself he desperately loves Nie Shengzai as he once loved Nie Mingjue in the prime of his youth. “You really deserve better,” he bitterly says.

“What can be better than your smile?” Nie Shengzai quips, the corner of his mouth pulling upward in a half-smile. He’s defeated, unable to fight back. He glimpses a shy smile before Lan Xichen swivels about and disappears in the darkness of the Unclean Realm’s paths. If not for the nocturnal gale slapping him, he would stay there the whole night brooding about how he pushed him away asking for more than he could take.

But for a moment, he could dream. He could almost taste his lips as if a memory had come to his mind and then gone away too fast to realize. Nie Shengzai wets his dried-up lips as if he could recall his taste and relish in it when he hasn’t even kissed him. What torture will be to live knowing they don’t belong to him. And never will.

 

True to his word, Lan Xichen was nowhere to be found the next morning, and Nie Shengzai woke up heartbroken and hangover. He reaped what he had sown. If only he could have stolen a kiss at least he’d had the memory to store. A sunny morning warms up his back as he awaits the arrival of Sect Leader Jin along with Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng. The headache lingers and worsens his mood, accompanying his gloomy thoughts as he replays last night’s events. How could he be so naïve?

“Have you heard me, cousin?”

“Hm?” Nie Huaisang gets closer to him, the ever-present folding fan in his hand.

“I said since Zewu-jun has left very early, I was wondering if you would be kind enough to accompany the Lan disciples back to the Cloud Recesses when the conference is over,” he repeats, scrutinizing his cousin’s expression. He found a similar one in Lan Xichen as he said his farewell this morning. The Jade of Lan wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to the Sect Leader, it would be too impolite, but he saw regret and a pinch of guilt in his countenance. Nie Huaisang didn’t ask what was obviously causing him distress, but soon enough he figured it out.

“He won’t want to see me,” Nie Shengzai retorts, his eyebrows knitting in a furrow.

“I didn’t want to trouble Xichen-ge with the arrangements, so I promised they’d be back unharmed,” Nie Huaisang sighs, exchanging a brief look with Jiang Cheng before he links his arm around Nie Shengzai’s and drags him along for a brief walk. 

They leave a generous distance from the top of the stairs and the welcoming party and enter a garden that cannot wait to shake off the snow off its branches and let the spring bloom. “Why would you say he doesn’t want to see you?” he inquires in a soft whisper. “Zewu-jun has been sweet on you since you two met.”

“Cousin,” he warns. Nie Shengzai pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand, his head pounding, his heart too.

“Did you tell him you’re in love with him?” Nie Huaisang has no time to lose. Their family will arrive soon and the chance to infuse some sense in his cousin will be over. “Don’t tell me another Nie family member fell for a Lan.”

“Please, I…”

“I never pegged you for a coward, Shengzai,” Nie Huaisang chastises. His suspicions of his cousin being Nie Mingjue’s rebirth are higher than ever. Why hasn’t he recovered his memories or why Lan Xichen cannot recognize him behind those brownish eyes escape his reason. Even if he never does, he has never seen two people more fated to each other than them. Or perhaps he did, Chifeng-zun and Zewu-jun.

“I tried to kiss him,” Nie Shengzai mutters, a pang of anger tingeing his words.

“Ah… bold.” His fan offers a delicate breeze as they walk, but deeming them far enough from prying ears, he halts. “If you want him, go get him. One last chance to tell him how you feel and do it right and not after a few jars of wine.” His words intend to encourage him, but they sound reproving enough for Nie Shengzai to shake his head in disbelief. “And he didn’t let you kiss him?”

“He’s waiting for Chifeng-zun. He didn’t say, but he didn’t need to either.” Nie Shengzai sighs, knowing that’s a battle he won’t win.

“Can you blame him?”

“No, but…” he clicks his tongue, “he may never reincarnate in his same span of life.”

“Dage was stubborn enough to do so and find Zewu-jun again.” Nie Huaisang closes his fan shut as if he didn’t need to hide his words when he’s about to unveil the situation for him. “He was the love of his life. When they were together, the world seemed to slow down for my brother. Lan Xichen was his joy, his present, and his future.” Nie Shengzai sports a downcast gaze that breaks his heart. Unrequited love is most hurtful the first time, and he’s too young to realize love is never black or white. “That’s a wedding I would have loved to attend.” Nie Huaisang smiles.

Back then, he wondered what went through Nie Mingjue’s mind that he didn’t become cultivation partners with Lan Xichen and, instead, they took their sworn brother’s oath. “They deserved the happy ending they never had and not to go through so much pain and betrayal. Do you know that not even the hardships they overcame drifted them apart? But death is unavoidable to us all.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Nie Shengzai mumbles, his heart drowning in the same despair it did last night. “Even if Chifeng-zun comes back he won’t remember his past life, he won’t even remember him while… while I am here.”

For a moment, Nie Huaisang ponders if he should confess that they went as far as to use demonic cultivation to seal Nie Mingjue’s conscience and his memories into his soul, but instead, he flicks open his fan and hides a smile behind. “No, he would not.” He refrains from telling him Lan Xichen’s hopes are up because of what they did; Nie Mingjue’s soul is free of resentfulness to reincarnate or laze around a thousand years in the afterlife, and they left a small window of hope.

Looking back at it, Nie Huaisang doubts that it was the smart decision. It didn’t help Lan Xichen move on, he knew he’ll be waiting for Nie Mingjue for the rest of his life, and yet all of them acted as accomplices of a foolish plan that may have not even worked. Suspecting Nie Shengzai is his brother but seeing how close he’s been with Lan Xichen, he has discarded that Wei Wuxian’s spell worked at all.

If Nie Shengzai is just a relative with an astonishing resemblance, a youth that admired and followed the steps of his childhood hero mind and soul, or if he’s his late brother having a second chance at life, he cares and loves him for who he is, and it pains him to see him trapped in this situation. Nie Huaisang refrains from voicing out his thoughts, but he closes his fan and tugs at Nie Shengzai’s sleeve so those big, brown eyes meet his gaze. “I am not telling you this to discourage you, on the contrary, I want you to understand how he felt about dage so you can understand how he feels about you.”

“I doubt he holds feelings for me at all,” Nie Shengzai mutters.

“Don’t guess,” he advises. “Talk to him again.”

“What if…?” Nie Huaisang taps his forearm with his folding fan to interrupt him. “Ouch.”

“If Zewu-jun wants to spend his life in seclusion, you must respect his decision, but I know better than anyone that words left unsaid will only cause pain to both parties,” he says. “You know what dage would never do? Give up on him.”

Nie Shengzai frowns, silent and dreading another tap of his menacing fan if he doesn’t speak out. “Bring the disciples there in two days, you said?” Nie Shengzai sighs, his lips curling upward in a half-smile. But before Nie Huaisang can keep inquiring into what happened, a childlike voice startles them.

“Young Master Nie!” Jin Ling’s twin runs toward him, jumping into Nie Shengzai’s wide arms. He lifts him off the ground and into the air, spinning twice before they head back to the top of the stairs to greet properly Sect Leader Jin and Madam Jin. He’s so heavy in his arms and it’s been mere months since they saw each other. They grow up so fast.

“Where’s your sister?” Nie Huaisang asks. The kid points at Jiang Cheng and the little girl clutching to his hand with no intentions to let go of him for as long as their stay lasts. He smiles to himself, knowing his husband has that spark of pride and joy behind his sapphire blue eyes.

“Why are you sad?” The boy says, prodding at Nie Shengzai’s cheek and not finding the usual grin that he always has for him.

“I’m not sad,” Nie Shengzai says, faking a smile that looks more like a grimace.

The child winds his little arms around his neck. “Father always says a hug is the best medicine,” he mumbles as if he were genuinely worried about him. But before another complaint comes out of that little pout, he lifts him over his shoulders and tucks him there.

“Come on, I’ll teach you how to fight later,” he says, erasing any worries from his little face and painting a big smile instead, “so you can win your sister for once!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ╭(♡･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ I know, I know... just bear with me a little longer... (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄  
> What about Jiang Cheng just melting hand in hand with his niece??? <3333
> 
> See y'all next Friday! No doubt we're heading back to the Cloud Recesses...


	20. Chapter 20

Leaving behind the wintry weather of Qinghe, Nie Shengzai climbs the stairs of the Cloud Recesses followed by a trail of chatting disciples dressed in white and blue. The spring has already settled here; trees dressed in green and dots of colors, the creek full of crystalline water. If he looks closely enough, he can see the silver shadows of the fish.

At first, the disciples acted shy and collected around him, partly amazed that the champion and future sect leader went through the trouble to tend to them during the conference, and also terrified by the very same reason. But now they chat lively as they spot their home at the top of the stairs. Nie Shengzai’s heart thumps at every step for very different reasons though. After a couple of days, the ache in his heart has calmed down, but he fears Lan Xichen has secluded himself and he won’t even have the chance to see him.

In time, Nie Shengzai knows they’ll meet again, but at least he wants to confess the love bursting out of his chest and, if they part different ways, he’ll have no regrets. The last time he climbed those stairs he had not a single worry in his mind. It’s been months ever since, but it feels like years; as if he had been loving him his whole life, and it became second nature to him. His presence filled the cracks of his soul, the emptiness of his heart, and nestled an immeasurable amount of love. Nie Shengzai thought he was incapable of falling in love until he saw himself on his knees, prostrated before a peerless god in white.

Gathering all the courage he can muster, Nie Shengzai grips the hilt of Dreamcatcher with white-knuckle force as he climbs the last step separating him from his destination -or from his destiny-. His long, tidy ponytail sways in the wind, a few onyx strands framing his face. It took him no time to get used to the weight of wearing two sabers, one at each side of his sash. One he can wield, and another he cannot take out of its sheath. He stands there, taking a deep breath of the always clean air of Gusu. A blessing after the long journey, but it fills his lungs with hope more than air.

The disciples cup their hands and pay their respects to him as they cross the threshold of the residence. He smiles as they go. In barely two days he’s already fond of them. The Gusu Lan pupils are disciplined and determined, they listen more than he ever listened to a lesson in all his youth, and also learn fast without complaining.

A slender figure in long, white robes with the unmistakable air of a Lan is there to welcome him. His hair flutters in the wind and he nods at the disciples that bow at him briefly before they resume their walk toward the Orchid Room. “Young Master Nie,” he says.

“Master Lan,” Nie Shengzai greets. Lan Sizhui is, as he remembered, like a strange mixture of Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen. The cunning expression of his eyes and the gentleness of his countenance makes him feel like he already knows him even though they met briefly during the last conference. In the future, they will be both sect leaders of their own clans.

“I hope they were no trouble,” Lan Sizhui says, tilting his head to the bundle of disciples in the distance. Nie Shengzai chuckles and halts beside him.

“Not at all,” he says. “They’re quite funny and well behaved compared to ours.”

“They are used to rules and a strict routine.” Lan Sizhui sighs. “I bet the martial arts conference and your teachings have been the most exciting lesson in quite a while.”

“They had fun,” Nie Shengzai says, a chuckle rumbling in the back of his throat. “Even when I had them practicing well into the night.” Lan Sizhui’s smile widens.

“Will you stay for a few days?” The pregnant silence after his question forms a furrow between Lan Sizhui’s eyebrows. Lan Xichen came home two days earlier than expected and without the disciples. Gossips and rumors don’t reach the Cloud Recesses, but the few last times he went night-hunting he overheard about how close Young Master Nie and Lan Xichen were during the Gusu conference. He paid them no mind, but the young face staring at him with slightly blushed cheeks is telltale enough to confirm them.

“I,” he clears his throat, “I was wondering if Sect Leader Lan would be able to receive me.” The words sound foolish, but he says them nonetheless.

“Sect Leader Lan has been in seclusion since he arrived,” Lan Sizhui says, reading the disappointment in Nie Shengzai’s downcast gaze and the way his eyebrows knit in concern. He shouldn’t pry, but the youth melts his heart, and what harm can do a bit extra of information? “I’m afraid I cannot disturb him, he usually spends the mornings in the cold spring. But you are welcome to stay and enjoy our hospitality.”

When he arrived, Lan Xichen had the same gloomy aura around him that Lan Sizhui thought was fading away after so many years. If he remembers correctly, right after the hunting contest in Phoenix Mountain, Lan Xichen came back home with more smiles at his back than he can remember, and it must have been because of the youth in front of him now. It always pained him that Lan Xichen suffered from Jin Guangyao’s deeds the most. Always loyal to his sworn brother’s oath, trying to find common ground between his brothers’ grudges, only to lose the love of his life and savor the sour taste of betrayal. They were so young back then, and so lucky to have survived such an event when they witnessed it with their own eyes.

“If you don’t mind,” Nie Shengzai says, the corner of his mouth pulling upward in a  smug smile, “I’ll explore the surroundings before I go. The last time I was here I kind of fell in love with the landscape.”

Lan Sizhui nods, welcoming him into the Cloud Recesses. “I’ll go tend the classroom before the disciples interrupt the morning readings catching up with their latest adventures.” While Nie Shengzai heads to a wooden bridge to enter the forest and follow the path to the cold spring, Lan Sizhui glances at him over his shoulder. “I’d hurry if I were you.” Nie Shengzai trips, shaking his head as a smile creeps up his lips by Lan Sizhui’s kind offer. He will see Lan Xichen again, the rest can wait, his worries can go to hell, and his heart can gallop faster than his legs, but he’ll find him.

“Who was him?” Lan Jingyi asks, startling Lan Sizhui. His ragged breath almost prevents him from pouring the words out of his mouth.

“Nie Shengzai, Young Master of the Nie family and future sect leader.”

“Ah,” he says, taking a sharp intake of air. “It looked like it was him from far away.”

“Were you jealous, Jingyi-xiong?” Lan Sizhui teases, his gentle, dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “Is that why you came here in such a hurry?” 

“Sizhui!” Judging by his beet-red face and his ragged breath, as soon as he spotted him talking to Nie Shengzai, he ran toward him. Some things never change. Lan Sizhui stifles a laugh as he presses their lips together in a soft kiss. That gesture always catches Lan Jingyi off-guard, and he usually forgets what he was going to say or do. As expected, he drinks a gasp right from his mouth, but his lover has no time to reciprocate when he slides out of his reach and starts walking.

“Running is prohibited in the Cloud Recesses, in case you have forgotten,” Lan Sizhui retorts, but then Lan Jingyi tugs at his cuff sleeve and links his waist with an inescapable arm, pulling him onward chest to chest. Lan Sizhui chuckles, amused and somehow fearful if by a fateful chance, Lan Qiren comes across them in such a tender embrace.

“So is trying to pass that as a kiss,” he scoffs. Before he can complain, Lan Jingyi seals his mouth with those eager, warm lips that never tire of dawdling kisses no matter the hour or the circumstances. Yielding to them, Lan Sizhui moans from the back of his throat, his lips parting and tasting a familiar wetness dipping inside. Perhaps it took them too long to get here, but they have their whole future to make up for the kisses they missed.

During the months Lan Sizhui teaches in the Cloud Recesses, Lan Jingyi sneaks at night into his chambers and they neglect their sleep in favor of their love. They are discreet, for now, the word secret remains unsaid, but they are aware the situation cannot last for long. They’re not teenagers anymore, and despite the fear of changing the lives of those around them, they know they want to become cultivation partners and never hide their love from the world.

Before the exchange turns heated and way too inappropriate even for them, Lan Sizhui pushes a hand on his chest and gasps. “When are we going to ask for his blessing?”

“N-never?” Lan Jingyi trembles.

“I’ll tell Hanguang-jun and Master Wei, but we should both ask Lan Qiren…”

“Perhaps we should tell Sect Leader Lan first.” Lan Jingyi rubs the back of his neck while Lan Sizhui stifles a smile. 

 

Nie Shengzai strolls through the path up the mountain as he once did alongside Lan Xichen. His stomach churns, but his heart pounds decisively for what he wants. He has decided to jump into that icy, unwelcoming pond again if that’s what it takes to get Lan Xichen to listen to him. Worst-case scenario, he comes back home with a broken heart and unfulfilled dreams, but at least he lost a battle that he decided to fight. And a kiss he has almost resolved to steal. His cheeks blush in pink at the thought of those lips he has dreamed about so many times.

A chilly breeze accompanies him under the shadow of the trees, determination guiding his strides. It always set him in the path to success; in night hunts, fights, contests. What he feels is as real as the sun, but all his thoughts vanish from his mind when a spotless figure in white appears at the end of the sinuous path. Lan Xichen, beautiful as ever, wearing the same flimsy robes he did the last time they visited the cold spring.

They smile at each other in the distance, but their strides never falter, and it dissipates his doubts. Nie Shengzai’s grin widens when they’re face to face, his gaze roaming the length of his body, his common sense trying to push heated thoughts aside. Cheerful, gentle eyes look back at him with not a trace of concern; as if he was expecting him or knew there would be more of them after the other night. It’s not as romantic as a starry sky and an unexpected snowfall, but Nie Shengzai would trap him in his arms and write a poem of kisses on his lips; if only he let him.

“Shengzai,” he greets, his eyes flicking momentarily to the new sword adorning his hip.

“Xichen.” His name caresses his throat and makes his heart beat faster. “I brought the disciples back, and I wanted to see you,” he says, his worries coming back treacherously. “If my presence is unwanted, I’ll leave at once.”

Lan Xichen graces him with a smile that challenges the skies to bow to him. “Walk with me,” he says, linking his arm around Nie Shengzai’s generous bicep. In a silence more comfortable than he had expected, they follow the path away from the cold spring and up to the trail behind the waterfall. It’s so up-high the thundering noise of the water cascading down is nothing more than a background rumble.

“Two days without you wouldn’t change my heart, but I would never refuse your company,” Lan Xichen says, squeezing his arm. Despite having slept poorly and committed to dreams about them together, the joy of seeing him here conquers him. He still aches for the kiss they didn’t share and what might have come afterward. “Why did you come? Why not let things be?”

“I need to tell you something that you may already know,” Nie Shengzai says, frowning when they enter a wide path carved on the mountain with a curtain of water draping on the other. 

The bright sun of midday slips through the stream and plays tricks over the four thousand rules chiseled in perfect order and leaving no blank space left for more. He realizes where they are; this is the place they didn’t visit the last time, so perhaps swathed by the pleasant noise of the spring and concealed by an endless stream of crystalline water is where everything ends. Once he unravels all the secrets of the Cloud Recesses and he becomes a stranger to Lan Xichen. “Why have you brought me here?”

“I live by these rules,” Lan Xichen says, his hand pressing against the rough, wet rock, his fingers tracing the symbols by which he conducts his life.

“And I live for your smile.” Nie Shengzai misses not a single detail of how Lan Xichen’s lips stretch in a sweet smile.

“He used to say that.” Lan Xichen shakes his head, weakened by his presence. No, two days did nothing to tame his feelings, and his heart swells, unbridled at every word of love that comes out of the youth’s lips. “You never give up, do you?” Nie Shengzai’s throat tightens when Lan Xichen cups his face with cold, slender fingers, and pierces him with eyes he respects, he admires, and that he came to love way too soon and way too unexpectedly. When did his initial admiration turn into such a deep sentiment of love?

“Tell me to stop fighting for you and I will,” he promises, fearful to get an answer he doesn’t want. Lan Xichen sighs, his eyes watery. “You’re casting me aside for someone that won’t come when I am here and I love you.”

“I will always wait for him,” Lan Xichen says, his throat tightening at the words that stubbornly leave his mouth against his heart’s wishes albeit they’re true. “But I’m struggling to let you go.”

“Then amuse yourself with me and begone when Chifeng-zun comes back,” Nie Shengzai says, taking a step toward him and closing the distance between them. Lan Xichen retreats until his back bumps on the cold, unmerciful wall. “There’s only one life, at least only one in which you find true love.”

He shivers under his gaze, his head tilting slightly upward as Nie Shengzai looms over him. He relinquishes not a single inch, his forearm resting on the wall beside his head, his breath warm and inviting. “You’re too young to say those things,” Lan Xichen murmurs, his eyes pleading.

“And too wise?” he jests, the corner of his mouth pulling upward.

Lan Xichen chuckles, averting his gaze, but calloused fingers rest under his chin and tilt his head up until their gazes meet again. Why is he so like him it hurts? “Naïve, and young, too much blood running through your veins and not a single trace of suffering, not a scar in your soul, you’re… too pure to be wasted on me.”

“For you, I’d fight a thousand wars and come back to be worthy of your love,” Nie Shengzai says, his eyes darkening and losing the golden sparkle in them. “One word of you is all I need and I’ll wear a hundred new scars.” Lan Xichen gasps, his hand sliding over his shoulder as if the mere thought of him getting away and jumping into danger to please him had sent a frisson through his spine. A fear he knows all too well and one that he has no intentions to relive. “I’ve been living under Nie Mingjue’s shadow all my life; I even fell in love with you when I knew you wouldn’t be mine.”

Their foreheads press together, Lan Xichen cornered in between the rules that should conduct his demeanor and almost seven feet of unrestrained male. His stomach curls nice and warm, his hand cradles his nape while the other wrings the collars of his robes. Desire and love mix and leave a bittersweet taste in his mouth, wanting to please those honeyed words, fighting to yield his mouth to another man. 

His fear dwindles away as he wonders if he’ll find his kisses absolutely delectable or terribly different from those heated, long kisses of Nie Mingjue. Just imagining it makes him tremble even though Nie Shengzai’s warmth invades him. He moves even closer, their chests heaving in unison.

“I’ll love him from the bottom of my soul until the day I leave this world and find him in the other,” Lan Xichen mumbles, feeling an arm tightening around his lower back, that delicious breath seizing in Nie Shengzai’s chest upon listening to his words. He was harsh, words aim to pierce through his heart and discourage him. Lan Xichen would rather mourn for Nie Mingjue and regret letting Nie Shengzai go than tangle him to a damaged soul, and a shattered heart.

“I don’t care.” But he’s relentless.

Lan Xichen tugs at the end of his forehead ribbon and it unfolds, falling between them as it threads in his hand. “This is all there is of me,” he says, and Nie Shengzai presses again their foreheads, caging him in his arms until he gets an answer, “a past drenched in sorrow, a present longing for someone that won’t come to me even if I waited for a thousand years more. This is what I am.” Lan Xichen’s voice resounds in the shaped-like cave that forms the waterfall against the hidden path. “I have nothing to offer but my muted pain; nothing worthy of the love you profess.”

“I love what I see, all of it,” Nie Shengzai says with a confident smile on his lips. “Your broken heart, your doubts, that lonesome air that conquers you when you think about him. Sometimes I think looking like him is my curse because you’ll never forget him, and a curse to yourself because of the same reason.” Lan Xichen graces him with a shy smile, both his hands threading around his neck, wringing the forehead ribbon as if it were the last strand of hope he can cling to. “I love everything about you. I love you as you are, Xichen.” His breathing slows down. “You can’t steal this from us. It’s real.” Nie Shengzai cocks his head on one side.

“I know… but if,” he stutters, “how can I love you if I love him too?” Unable to stop him; unwilling to reject another of his advances, Lan Xichen parts his lips and gasps his name. “We can’t,” he mumbles, their mouths hovering over each other. “We shouldn’t.” And yet he pulls him onward, anticipation curling his spine and making his head dizzy, those smug lips smiling at his desperation. “Kiss me… _already_.” Nie Shengzai drinks the last word directly from his trembling lips. He’s shaken as if a lightning bolt had gone through him to remind him what he lost and what he has again between his arms. The kiss tastes like ashes for a moment, and then the sweetest of victories.

Lan Xichen yields to the rapture of the kiss, to being wanted, desired, and moans from the back of his throat when the youth deepens the kiss and invades his mouth with an eager tongue. It was as he expected; so like him it hurts, so like Nie Mingjue he opens his eyes to remind himself the one kissing him is Nie Shengzai. His eyebrows knit in an adorable frown he knows all too well, his lashes adorning flustered cheeks, his mouth owning and leading the kiss as he would. He used to kiss him breathless just like this, just kissing, and licking, and biting every inch of his mouth. Nie Mingjue kissed him with the whole extent of his body until he stole the last drop of air from him. So does he.

It tastes like their first, but it’s another first kiss to cherish. Lan Xichen feels none of the guilt tormenting him these past two days, his heart swelling when those lips press against his own so intently the back of his head bumps against the cold stone. His tongue retreats only to trace his lips and ease the sting of a love bite. Nie Mingjue opens his warm, brownish eyes and meets his gaze, his bottom lip trapped in between his teeth, sliding so gently Lan Xichen melts into his mouth and would beg for more; already. Then reality strikes him unmercifully.

“I can’t…” he gasps. Nie Mingjue shushes him, fighting the many tears gathering behind his eyes, his lips swollen as a token of the only love he has felt in this life and the former. As if he had woken up when in reality he’s been always here, underwater, muffled by another life but ever-present.

“You’re mine.” The statement comes so entitled Lan Xichen tightens the hold around his neck, refusing to get such a small offering for such a brave declaration. At the lovestruck glance and the tears in his eyes, Lan Xichen frowns, his eyes flicking to the face he thought he knew so well, to those gentle, brown eyes that had a glimpse of him and now gleam with the full knowledge of a lifetime behind them. “I found you, Lan Huan,” Nie Mingjue whispers, hoping he understands.

Memories of the past flow through his mind along with memories of the present. Two lifetimes so different from each other they seem hard to reconcile, and yet everything makes sense now, his anger, his death, the youth he never had, and he enjoyed this time around. And how he fell for him over and over, sure as if written in stone that Nie Mingjue would fall in love with Lan Xichen even if he couldn’t remember him; even if they couldn’t recognize each other for who they were. Their souls would still find each other, mesh together, entangle their fates as if a red string had knit their hearts in an inescapable lace.

Nie Mingjue never believed in tales of unconditional love and soulmates until he met him, and he has had to die and come back to this world to find him again, to honor what they had, to make up for the many mistakes of his past life. A second chance he doesn’t deserve, on his lips.

Tears trickle down Lan Xichen’s cheeks upon hearing his birth name. “Dage?”

“I’m here,” he says almost breaking into a peal of laughter. “I’m back, Lan Huan. I don’t know how but I am. It has to be you who brought me back.” He cups his face, wiping those happy tears away from his face with a pair of caring thumbs. Lan Xichen remains as beautiful as ever as if he had been frozen in time waiting for a kiss to melt the ice around his heart. Seems like he has, even if he couldn’t remember who he was. His heart is about to explode, his body aching to feel him, his lips tingling for more breathless kisses.

“I hoped, and I wished you were back,” Lan Xichen says, his voice cracking. Now it comes back to him, Wei Wuxian never said they needed to touch, he said their souls had to. All he needed to wake Nie Mingjue was to open his heart to love again and let him in. A nervous laugh gets muffled in Nie Mingjue’s broad shoulder. He hides there, his body trembling. “You found me,” he sobs.

“Let me see you,” he says, trying to see Lan Xichen’s flustered complexion. Cradling his face into his hands, he realizes how much he has missed him. Nie Mingjue feels as if he had been wandering for too long in between sleepiness and consciousness; following an invisible path with the sole purpose of finding him at the end.

“Is it really you, Mingjue-xiong?”

“Would I ever lie to you?” A half-smile pulls the corner of his mouth upward.

As he drowns into his infinite, golden eyes, Lan Xichen realizes the boyish joy of Nie Shengzai is gone; his naiveness, his heedless air. Nie Mingjue stares back at him with bleary eyes that reach the depths of his soul with one glance. For a brief moment, he regrets being so selfish, bringing him back to this world and his suffering when he could live oblivious to the wrongdoings of his past life and his fateful ending. He was defeated, tortured, pieced apart and sewn back together. All of that drove him mad once along with Jin Guangyao’s deeds, and Lan Xichen’s heart shrinks at the realization. He brought it _all_ back to his life.

Comfortable as they are in a close embrace; shielded from the world behind a curtain of water and sturdy stone, they stare into each other’s eyes as if no words could explain what they feel at being reunited. No one can reach them or hurt them here, so they stay as close as they can, their bodies molding the length of the other as if an inch between them was unthinkable. 

“If you remember both lives,” Lan Xichen asks. “Isn’t it confusing?”

Nie Mingjue smiles. “It’s me, I just have more memories.” He breathes in the familiar scent that used to drive him mad with desire. “The love I had for you back then,” his hand palms his chest as if feeling the warmth swelling his heart. “The new love that grew in me these past months…”

“What do you remember?”

“Everything,” he mumbles against his mouth as if he only wanted to claim it as his own and forget about words. “Past, present, you all over both my lives…”

“And the last thing you remember?” Lan Xichen aches to know if the pain of knowing, of remembering and recalling his past life will harm his soul and his golden core again.

“I’m not sure,” Nie Mingjue frowns, his hands dropping to hug Lan Xichen’s waist. “It’s blurry when I try to recall certain things, but I know they are there.” Lan Xichen casts an anxious glance at him. “But...  why can I remember?”

“It’s my fault,” Lan Xichen sobs, clammy hands clinging to his strong neck, his stomach churning at how he needs to confess before it’s too late. “You remember because of me. All your pain is back because of me. When we freed you, I sealed your memories to your soul so you wouldn’t forget us.”

Nie Mingjue shushes him to calm down his worries. He cannot remember the afterlife as he would like to, only glimpses of it. The image of Lan Xichen crying is there in his mind, but he knows he died searching for a face he hated, seeing him everywhere, his chest constricting in pain and then… Nie Huaisang; in his arms. How must have pained his little brother to witness his downfall? He swallows it all back where it belongs. “You fought for us better than I ever could, you never forgot me, you didn’t condemn me to hell, and you granted me salvation,” Nie Mingjue says. “A second chance.” Lan Xichen feels the guilt of the past thirty years bursting out of his chest when he should be joyful to have him back. “What you did was an act of love.”

“But dage, you died because of me,” Lan Xichen says, his dark, expressive eyes staring into Nie Mingjue and asking for forgiveness. “Because I couldn’t see his true colors, his intentions, I didn’t believe you,” he gasps, the words lifting a weight off his shoulders, but bringing back all the sorrow he has learned to tame. “I was a blind accomplice in his crimes.”

“None of this was ever your fault!” Nie Mingjue chides, his eyebrows knitting in a deep furrow. His mistakes are his own, he was careless and blinded by grudges when he could’ve been smarter. He trusted his sworn brother as much as Lan Xichen did. Who’s to blame? “You could never see the evil in those you love, not even me. I’m not a saint either and here you are, loving me just the same.”

“Dage…” Lan Xichen cups his face, fearful of unleashing a fit of anger, but the only thing that sparks behind his brown colored eyes is love. Love as deep as the sea and as tall as the sky. The love that used to overwhelm him night after night, invade him soul and body until there was nothing left of him, or himself, just a mixture of the two to transcend beyond the world they inhabited.

“Meng Yao can’t get in between us now. I drove us apart too, blinded by rage, by a moral code that would never allow me to have you and keep you for myself despite everything else.” He takes a sharp intake of air, those you take right before a promise made for the heavens to hear. “I won’t make the same mistakes twice.”

“The past belongs in the past,” Lan Xichen murmurs.

“And you belong to me.” His mouth falls against him once more, speaking about the love he thought lost to fate and that has come back to his life like a torrent of freshwater. 

Perhaps those lips are not the ones he remembers, but the one behind them is definitely Nie Mingjue. Peppering kisses everywhere, the corner of his mouth, his chin, the outline of his jaw. Lan Xichen’s ragged breath joins the myriad of kisses as he tries to keep his feet grounded. “I’ve dreamed about you, about this.”

Nie Mingjue’s hands unleash over his body, one arm winding around his waist, the other pulling at his robe while he mouths against his neckline. The delicate fabric drapes down, baring a shoulder and jade skin. “Dage,” he gasps, yielding to that hot, caring mouth trailing his skin. It’s not a complaint, and Nie Mingjue answers nailing him up against the wall, sneaking his hand underneath his garments because they have no use in his presence.

“I’ve missed you,” Nie Mingjue groans before his teeth clench around a mouthful of his bared shoulder. Lan Xichen’s whine catches him off guard, coiling scorching hot down his groin. Thirty years of being apart have kindled his desire, his mind foggy, his hand exploring and finding familiar skin that prickles under his touch while Lan Xichen squirms and murmurs a blue streak of his name. “If this is a dream and I am truly dead,” Nie Mingjue whispers, his mouth gritting the unmarred surface of his flesh, following the curve of his neck and down to his collarbones. “Or if I disappear again into the void I was…” Weary and desperate, his heart thumping, his stomach pressed against Lan Xichen’s hard length. “I’m taking you now.”

“Mingjue-xiong…” Strong arms rip his flimsy robe apart like rice paper, exposing him to the humid place. But Lan Xichen bites his lower lip, feeling Nie Mingjue’s heated gaze all over him, his hands framing his sides and traveling down the straight lines of his stomach, to his hips and back to cup the lush curve of his butt cheeks. As if he wanted to learn again the shape of his body, reminiscing those times in which he belonged to him and no one else. “You still have no shame,” he chides, knowing a scarlet red adorns his cheeks.

A hearty chuckle rumbles in the back of his throat before Nie Mingjue latches on a rosy nipple, his hand wrapping around Lan Xichen’s girth. The forehead ribbon hangs from Nie Mingjue’s neck, Lan Xichen molding his upper arms to support himself, digging holes in the shape of his fingertips. His opened robe hangs from his elbows while a warm, wet tongue swipes over his hard nip until it is sensitive and unbearable. “Ah,” he whines when his teeth grit around it, “not here…”

“Here and now,” Nie Mingjue retorts. “You’ve waited long enough.” His lips bump against his skin at every word.

As if he could ever stop Nie Mingjue when he wanted to take whatever his heart desired; as if he didn’t yield like a dutiful lover just melting under his greedy hands and starved mouth. Lan Xichen knows right now he’s Nie Mingjue’s nourishment. Both his nipples tingle for more, wet and hard in the open, his head cocking to the side fearful of getting caught even though nobody uses this path anymore.

Nie Mingjue ensconces himself between his legs, his knees dug on the unmerciful stone. His lips follow the ridges of his muscles and the pristine taste of his skin while tracing an invisible line down his navel. He strokes him in a loose fist, and Lan Xichen’s legs falter for a moment, but he braces himself on Nie Mingjue’s broad shoulders. Young, teasing eyes glance at him behind hooded lids and spit-licked lips; brown, gentle eyes that sparkle in gold and a very familiar darkness he has missed. “Time has stood still with you,” he says with a smug grin. “You haven’t aged a day.” His hand fondles his hip and behind his buttocks, the other squeezing his length while clear droplets drip down his knuckles.

“Dage!” Lan Xichen says, a withheld smile stretching his lips. “Let’s go to my chambers, you’re shameless.” The story of their life, Lan Xichen trying to infuse reason in Nie Mingjue, and his lover owning their actions for both and granting him what his heart aches for.

“I’ve waited long enough too.” He takes him in, the swollen tip of his cock parting his lips and sliding into the molten heat of his mouth. The salty taste of him almost brings tears to his eyes. He has never been worthy of him and yet he chases Lan Xichen from his past life into this one. 

He suckles around him, listening to all those little whines and moans and swallowing him another inch. His thumb strokes the underside of his root, his hand groping for his butt cheek, his tongue brushing his cock inside his mouth.

Imposed restraint during all these years has its toll on Lan Xichen. Self-indulgence and luscious behavior are forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, and although he has succumbed to his needs more times than he’s proud of, the sight of Nie Mingjue on his knees it’s too much to handle. His groin curls, his muscles tense; like a glass filling too quickly and overflowing. Lan Xichen brims with desire, with pleasure long forgotten and found again in the depths of his mouth. With his name on his lips Lan Xichen climaxes.

Hot spurts glide down his throat as he swallows, refusing to let go of his lover just yet. Nie Mingjue feels him writhing, noting how his cock goes soft in the wavering cave of his mouth. He slides him out languidly, savoring his lust as if this tiny proof of physical love meant the world to them. Because after a lifetime hankering for the other, it does.

Nie Mingjue stands, holding him in a close embrace, hiding in the crook of his neck and pressing a kiss there. “Xichen, we need to speak so much and I only want to spend eternity in your body.” Lan Xichen’s clear laugh resounds as a droplet of water in a pond, calming and reassuring, bringing him back to the earth and confirming this is not a dream.

“You may have a new body, but you’ll never change,” Lan Xichen says, but suddenly Nie Mingjue lifts his head and locks eyes with him.

“Is that a bad thing?” The frown between his eyebrows is so adorable Lan Xichen stifles a smile. It will take time to get used to the young face staring at him, to the new nuances of his body, but the way he smiles, the way he speaks even though it’s not the same voice; everything has Nie Mingjue behind and he loves what he loved once, and what enamored him these past months.

“No.” Lan Xichen hustles to sneak his hand underneath his lower garments, finding him hard and willing. His lover trembles when he fists his cock and arches an eyebrow at him. “Not bad at all, dage,” Lan Xichen teases, stroking him at an almost ungently speed. Nie Mingjue’s countenance twists in pleasure, a grunt leaving his lungs in the shape of a shameful moan. “That is something I would have missed…”

His cheeks turn a bright red, and he braces himself on the wall of rules, his hips swiveling forward pursuing the warmth of his hand, the delectable movement that tightens his groin and mushes his brain. “Lan Huan,” he gasps. 

Stealing each other’s pleasure has always been a staple in their relationship. He would be unstoppable, but Lan Xichen was insatiable; he would take anything he would give and then ask for some. A half-smile conquers his lips at the memories surging through him like a balm.

The bad memories fade, the suffering, the anger that shrank his heart day and night, robbing him of his sleep, of his time with Lan Xichen, of a life he won’t get back. Except he has now. Nie Mingjue opens his eyes wide, his ragged breath puffing against Lan Xichen’s cheek while his hand pumps his cock as expertly as it always did. It’s not enough, it will never be enough, but he’s about to crumble before him at the second chance he has graced him with. Before he can dwell on the familiar sensations coming back to him, on the memories of days like this, nights like this, of a bed and the two of them entangled for hours as if they were one. “How could I ever forget you?” he gasps, wrinkling his eyes shut.

Nie Mingjue spills between them, his body jerking along with his cock, his arm winding around Lan Xichen’s shoulders for support. He smiles at him, his hand still loosely wrapped around him not minding the mess running down his knuckles. “I’ve missed you, dage,” he says, pressing their mouths in one of those breathless kisses they were so fond of.

“I’ve missed you even when I wasn’t alive,” Nie Mingjue murmurs. 

Only he knows what hides after death, but to him, a place that doesn’t have Lan Xichen is nothing more than a useless void of despair. But he remembers bits and pieces that might be the afterlife, they mix with Nie Shengzai’s knowledge about what happened, and it makes sense, so much sense it frightens him to end up like his past self, flooded in a towering rage when he’d rather drown in love.

“I can’t believe you’re back,” Lan Xichen says, their gazes locked together. They cannot look away from each other, not now, not ever.

“Take me to the hanshi,” Nie Mingjue says, a smug smile stretching his lips. “Let’s forget the world in there…” The sultry whisper curls his stomach nice and warm; that honeyed voice dropping a notch and tempting his very soul to misbehave. “... and I’ll show you how back I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ Ah... Sect Leader Lan, refusing a kiss and then begging for one (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ 
> 
> I was SO RELIEVED that you guys loved Nie Shengzai so much. I was truly scared that he'd read more like an OC than a young, carefree NMJ which is what I intended. But I trusted my instincts and my lovely Dormy and everything went well!! <3 Nie Mingjue is back, he is both his past self and Nie Shengzai, and Lan Xichen couldn't be happier about it...
> 
> PS: I hope you guys don't mind the amount of smut and pillow talk that awaits you next week... ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

His morning bath was waiting for them back in the hanshi. Nie Mingjue reminisced about the many times he had sneaked into Lan Xichen’s bedchambers in the past whether he was home or staying in a guest residence in the Unclean Realm or Lanling. Since he saw him for the first time, he realized his heart would never belong to anyone else. He fell in love so fast and so deeply his heart halted only to beat at Lan Xichen’s rhythm. Nie Mingjue only wanted to paint smiles on his lips, to draw out those sweet laughs and chuckles, to abuse his mouth with eager lips and an even eager tongue. No one can take that from them; they own those memories and he cherishes having them back.

He’d do it all over; falling and getting back up as many times as it would take. Their love was worth all the pain, death, the after death… All over again in the blink of an eye for a glimpse of his smile. Lan Xichen was his haven on earth, especially after his father perished. But the war changed him while he tried to change the world and failed. 

He admires, stupefied, how Lan Xichen disrobes and hangs his clothes from the folding screen. As if he was living in a dream, Nie Mingjue dreads waking up at any moment and realizing this isn’t happening. Well-formed shoulders, long, strong arms framing the flawlessness of his sinuous back. A perfectly chiseled body he still remembers by heart and that makes his mouth go dry and his throat itchy. The morning light seeps through the window and grants him an eerie aura. Nie Mingjue strides his way toward him, pressing a kiss on his bared shoulder.

“Am I dreaming?” he whispers, Lan Xichen oblivious to the frown marring his happiness.

“Remove your clothes.” Lan Xichen swivels about, helping him with his garments with newly found patience. There’s a subtle curl in the corner of his mouth, and the same endless well of love right behind his deep, dark eyes. He slides his hands over his heated skin, ogling the young body he has coveted in his most shameful dreams. Lan Xichen stifles a smile.

“I am taller than I was, am I?” Nie Mingjue lifts his chin, his lips at the level of Lan Xichen’s perfect nose, a mocking grin on his mouth.

Lan Xichen breaks into a hearty chuckle. “Oh, dage,” he says, discarding the garment and cupping his face with both hands. He cocks his head to a side, his mouth parting, his eyes hiding behind his lids albeit the clarity of the sun reaches him nonetheless. Blindly, he traps his lower lip between his own as he has done many times in the past. Yes, Nie Mingjue is about the same perfect height than before.

“I’ve missed your kisses,” Nie Mingjue says, giving a peck to Lan Xichen’s nose before he undoes his sash and gets rid of the rest of his garments. Three swords huddle in a bundle on the floor, needless. His lover gathers his long hair in a bun before he dives into the hot bath, and Nie Mingjue follows him dutifully.

A bucket tub filled with scented, steamy water welcomes their bodies and envelopes them in a calmness they need after their previous encounter. Lan Xichen blushes as he remembers how they have always let their passion burn them alive without thinking about the consequences. He thought it was a matter of time; of being together long enough to tame the urge of joining in the most basic acts in the most inappropriate places, but if after a lifetime -or two- they haven’t changed one bit, he better embraces it as part of their love as Nie Mingjue has.

He reclines on Lan Xichen’s chest, excess water cascading down the tub while they fumble around until they find a comfortable position. They barely fit, but neither of them mind. “I could live in your arms,” Nie Mingjue gasps, his head reclining over Lan Xichen’s shoulder, his ponytail dangling outside the edge of the bathtub. Lan Xichen presses a smile on his temple while his hands map his chest and his legs entangle with him in an impossible-to-escape cage.

No one bothers him when he retires into secluded meditation, so Lan Xichen succumbs to a strange sensation of safety and inner peace he had forgotten. They can spend as many days as they want together, sharing their bodies, finding again the love they once lived and drown in it. Lan Xichen smiles. They have their whole lives before them, but he pushes aside the thoughts when he realizes _Nie_ _Shengzai_ will have to come back to Qinghe.

“I can hear you thinking,” Nie Mingjue mumbles.

“It used to be the other way around.” Lan Xichen sighs. “I am in secluded meditation,” although meditation is not what he has in mind anymore, “but when will you have to leave?”

“Your side? Never,” Nie Mingjue says with the usual ring of smugness in his voice. “We’ll figure it out. Before I left, I told Huaisang I’d be here for a few days, so no one will worry about my absence.” As if the thought had gone through him like a lightning bolt, Nie Mingjue straightens and turns to look at Lan Xichen. “Huaisang is well and married,” he says, a grin baring his teeth. “A respected Sect Leader, he…”

“I know,” Lan Xichen smiles, cupping his face with a wet, warm hand.

“He has gone through so much alone, and turns out my little brother was stronger than I ever thought,” Nie Mingjue stammers. “I’m so proud of who he has become.” The realization he has his brother back shrinks his heart. “He was like a big brother to me in this lifetime. I am his cousin but he treated me like his younger brother.” He leans again on Lan Xichen’s body, unable to hide the smile stretching his lips as he speaks because it reflects in his voice. “He was strong when he needed too, he fought for what he thought right, and never forgot me or neglected our sect.”

“You were missed,” Lan Xichen whispers. “And loved again.”

“It’s strange growing up admiring the deeds of a former Sect Leader when it was me all along,” he says, and they both share a knowing chuckle.

Nie Mingjue takes his hands into his own, tracing those beautiful, slender fingers that played for him so many times. Delicate as they are, they hold immeasurable prowess while playing the guqin or wielding the sword. He peppers kisses on his knuckles, reminding himself of the many things he has in this life. Not only his brother Nie Huaisang; he also has a family, a mother, nephews, he’s the future Sect Leader again. What hovered over him as a burden in his previous life, an obligation he had to live up to, now turns into a bright future thanks to Nie Huaisang who brought him up in the Qinghe Nie Sect ways. He was a big brother playing the role of a father to Nie Huaisang, and he was his mentor this time around. What an irony.

Suddenly all the times his brother refused to train or cultivate make sense, it wasn’t a childish uprising. Nie Mingjue knows how he applies the arts to his cultivation, the love and effort he puts in painting fans or writing poems. A single stroke of his brush moved mountains more efficiently than the blind thrusts of his sword. He sighs, overcome by emotions long forgotten. “I was stubborn regarding Huaisang and his studies. I pushed him away refusing to listen to him.”

“Sometimes we want the best for our loved ones, but only they can choose their path despite our guidance.” He has advised Lan Wangji about Wei Wuxian, and his words always fell into deaf ears, luckily for both. “You are still stubborn,” Lan Xichen teases. “With the difference life was kinder to you.”

“Do I deserve it?” Nie Mingjue turns to face him again, the water crackling around them. He has sinned and enjoyed war and bloodbaths; he devoted his life to find glory and honor, to pursue what made him stronger; he loved as much as he killed, and because of his family illness, he died of a qi deviation. Is that weakness that he feared and ignored equally still within him? Has he gotten rid of what ailed him in his past life? The memory of Baxia prickles the little hairs at his nape, his hand tingling for the weapon he owned and owned him back in return. His old weapon, old friend, a dreaded curse that sped up his fate.

“You have all your life in front of you now.” Lan Xichen kisses his lips, unable to determine if they deserve this second chance or not, but by a stubborn gladness that he will cherish it for the rest of his days. “You deserve happiness, a life full of all the things that were snatched from you when you were so young…” 

How can Nie Mingjue mourn for his late father and also the loving and caring father he had in this life? How can he miss the war hero he was? How can part of him dwell on what he didn’t get to do back then? Because it couldn’t be any other way. He’s a slave of his memories, but if that’s the price he has to pay to love Lan Xichen wholeheartedly for two lifetimes in a row, he’ll pay it gladly.

“In front of us, Lan Huan,” he says. “My biggest regret back then was not spending every day by your side.”

“What about…” Lan Xichen swallows back the name, fearful of seeing the same dull expression of the past conquering his eyes. “… what you’ve been through; what he did to you?” Nie Mingjue frowns. “I worry about you undergoing a qi deviation again, reliving the pain because you have all your memories back.”

“I only care about you,” Nie Mingjue says. “You defeated the enemy I couldn’t.” Lan Xichen notes tears gather at the back of his eyes, but he wrinkles his eyes shut and fights them. “He cost me so much I have no more hate toward him. I died, Xichen.”

“I know all too well you died.” He locks his bleary eyes right into his, swallowing a lump in his throat that tastes bitter and rancid.

“I tried to bring justice to the cultivation world because I knew what Meng Yao was and I failed everyone. I failed you too.” Nie Mingjue wished he could forget the glimpses of the afterlife, but they are ingrained in his soul as forcefully as his love for Lan Xichen. He knows first-hand what Jin Guangyao did to him, and those are memories he will take to his grave because they are his own to be tormented by and not Lan Xichen’s. “If it hadn’t been for Huaisang, who knows what would be of the world today.” What he doesn’t remember he has learned in books, legends, tales, and what his brother shared with him.

“You remember what that happened to you after you died?” Lan Xichen hoped they weren’t having this conversation. Despite the calmness he senses in Nie Mingjue, brooding on the past won’t do them good.

“When I was lost in resentfulness, I heard a melody and it belonged to you,” Nie Mingjue says, a sad smile stretching his lips. “I also know how Jin Guangyao died that night, and what I had become…”

“Dage, don’t…” Lan Xichen holds him, hiding in the crook of his neck, but the steady beating of his heart is like a balm to his soul.

“I remember Baxia again in my hands, the saber spirit trying to reach my consciousness and taking the resentfulness away… They helped you free me, yes?” Nie Mingjue pieces together the events he cannot recall with blurry memories.

“Yes,” Lan Xichen mumbles. “Baxia freed you of the resentfulness invading your soul, and then you regained consciousness.”

“I remember a kiss I couldn’t give you because we belonged to different worlds,” Nie Mingjue whispers into his ear as consolation. “And then I was free, there was no pain, no rage, no sadness, there was only light and the warmth of our love healing my soul.” Lan Xichen thought he had no more tears to shed and yet salty droplets trickle down his cheeks as he listens to him.

The touch of his skin and the beating of his heart comforts him because he has him back, in his arms, and all they went through at that mountain reunited them in barely twenty years that seemed so long at first but are a glimpse of a life in reality.

“You saved me and fought for me when there was no hope; you rose where I failed, you beat him not once but twice and not one of his delusions of grandeur remain in this world. You avenged me, Xichen,” he says, his hand cupping Lan Xichen’s nape, his thumb tracing circles on the back of his ear. “It wasn’t my temper, it was him. He drove me mad little by little. He knew exactly how to play his cards, knew me so well…” Nie Mingjue dwells on those early days when Jin Guangyao was his deputy and he put his trust in him. He hopes the betrayal of his sworn brother hurts less and less as time goes by. “… my weaknesses, what would ignite my rage, what would turn my blood hot; that and the song I knew deep in my heart wasn’t the same one that you played for me.”

“I wish I could have done more,” Lan Xichen finds his lips and they melt in a kiss.

“I came back because of you.” Nie Mingjue whispers the words into his mouth so they reach his heart, with a smile on his lips and not a trace of resentment in his soul. “Let’s live a life free of lies, of war, of everything that dares to get in between us.”

Tears can’t find the way to his eyes anymore, not when he’s cradled in his arms and the world spins around them. “Yes,” Lan Xichen gasps and is rewarded by Nie Mingjue’s heated kisses. He’s already breathless, more water dripping down the bucket tub while Nie Mingjue turns them around and leans back on the side of the tub. Lan Xichen straddles him, drowning in his mouth. 

His taste hasn’t changed, the way he finds his tongue and challenges him to deepen the kiss. “Yes,” he whispers again, sensing a pair of unruly hands roaming the length of his back. He listens to them diving into the water and coming back up, smearing droplets of flower-scented water that tickle his back and send a frisson through his body. Nie Mingjue is still a tease.

“Why haven’t you let me kiss you earlier?” Nie Mingjue grins smugly, his arms threading around his waist in a warm, strong trap. Lan Xichen winds his arms over his shoulders, using the recess to catch some air. Their lengths brush shyly underwater, and the red comes up his cheeks. He has had him in his hand, and now he wants him somewhere deeper inside him.

“I wanted to,” Lan Xichen quips, trying to find his mouth for more of those relentless kisses while Nie Mingjue dodges his attempt and hides in the crook of his neck. His tongue swipes his way up to his neck, feeling his fluttering pulse point. “But I didn’t want to complicate your life.” Lan Xichen whines when sharp teeth clench around his neck.

Nie Mingjue chuckles, groping for his butthocks with both hands and pushing Lan Xichen onward. He braces himself on his well-built shoulders while those greedy hands squeeze his butt cheeks. “Have I said I’ve missed you?” His hands lift him slightly while his mouth trails down his collarbone until he finds a perked nipple. His lips close around it, tugging as he flicks his tongue over the tip. “And that I will never leave your side?” Nie Mingjue says, his mouth coming back quickly to the task of spreading a pink and red watercolor painting on Lan Xichen’s chest and countenance.

“Mingjue-xiong,” he moans, yielding to those teasing fingers stroking up and down his rim and to that demanding mouth latching on his nipple. Nie Mingjue pushes a finger inside him, and Lan Xichen bites back a moan gritting his teeth on his lower lip. It’s been so long his stomach curls. He’ll have him inside soon; he’ll rejoice in being full of him and sore while also surrendering to pleasure. Nie Mingjue traces an invisible line to his other nipple, suckling at it until it is as pink as the other, the surrounding skin marred with indentations of his teeth and reddened by his persistent mouth.

Lan Xichen has never known any shame in the arms of Nie Mingjue. He rocks into his lap, his cock brushing against his firm stomach, his hips swaying as he uselessly tries to fuck himself with that single finger stuck in him. The subtle burn and discomfort pools in his groin, wanting nothing more than him stretching him widely. More water spills as he moves, glancing down at a starved lover that mouths at his chest; biting, swiping his skin with a wet tongue, sucking at his nipples until another pitiful moan leaves his lungs.

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue gasps, his hand grasping his butt cheek while he tries to follow Lan Xichen movements, his finger trapped in his tight hole. “Tell me you have oils or I’ll eat you until you’re so wet and tender I can slide inside you.” He grunts, his cock pulsing at the rhythm of his heart. A life without him wouldn’t quench his desire for him. He has just gotten back years of memories that mingle with the young, first love he has experienced these past months. The concoction is snatching his common sense and replacing it with an irrepressible ache to sate Lan Xichen’s whims with his own physical needs.

“Take me to the bed,” Lan Xichen says, his parted mouth hovering over Nie Mingjue’s. “Make love to me, dage.” The sultry whisper sends a frisson through his spine, and Nie Mingjue withdraws his finger, hooking Lan Xichen’s legs by the knee pit and securing his grip on him. “How you used to; how I’ve missed and dreamed for so many years…” His arms tighten around his neck, knowing his lover will please him. “I thought I would never have you back…”

Nie Mingjue stands, water trickling down their bodies. Nimbly, he supports Lan Xichen with one arm and leaps out of the bucket tub. “I’d find you in the depths of hell or the highest of heavens, Lan Huan.” He walks them both unhurriedly toward the bed, a timely blast of spiritual energy drying their skins before he throws Lan Xichen into the bed and follows him closely. The length of his body glides against him in a full-body caress, their ragged breaths speaking the words of want their hearts murmur but their mouths can’t tell. “Where?”

“Where what?” Lan Xichen maps his muscled back with both hands. He lost the last thread of self-restraint moments ago. He couldn’t care less about what happens outside this bed.

“Oil, something to smooth the way.” A chuckle rumbles in Nie Mingjue’s throat, and he tries his luck stretching a hand and reaching for the bedside table. There’s a pot with a balm inside, and he moves the lid and scoops some with his fingertips.

“Less messy,” Lan Xichen quips, taking in Nie Mingjue’s expression as he coats his fingers with the balm. It melts and turns into a slippery oil at the contact with his body heat. Eager to continue, Lan Xichen bites Nie Mingjue’s earlobe. “What are you waiting for?”

Nie Mingjue straightens, ensconcing himself between his sprawled thighs. His lover’s beauty takes him aback, and as much as he tries to spot any difference in him, he has barely changed. A lifetime ago, these moments were the only ones in which he felt free and wholesome. His fingertips trace his rim and outline his hole, and upon listening to a luscious whine that trickles down his spine like a drop of sweat, he slides a finger inside him. The oil smooths the way; he's warm and tight, and he leans down to take a bite on the tender skin of his inner thigh. He intends to leave countless marks on him as the irrefutable proof that this is happening; that he’s back with the owner of his soul, the other end of that red string he would follow blindly through thick or thin; to hell and back.

Lan Xichen stares at Nie Mingjue, a foot finding its way to his shoulder while he enjoys the delectable prodding of another finger. He wrings the sheets and gasps his name as he has done many nights when his own fingers offered a pitiful relief to his needs. “I’ve missed you terribly,” he says in a thin voice.

The subtle furrow of concentration in between his eyebrows eases at his words and is replaced by a wolfish grin. His fingers slide in and out of him like a pair of whimsical lovers, softening the muscle, spreading oil in and out of him, making sure Lan Xichen begs and longs for his cock before he gets what already has Nie Mingjue hard and leaking a clear trail on the bedding.

Their previous encounter gave him a truce, some patience, but all of his restraint will be gone once he’s inside him; he doubts he’ll be able to tease him any longer, but who cares if they have all the time in the world to learn their bodies again. Nie Mingjue will erase the loneliness of the past thirty years; all the cold nights he wasn’t there to swathe him with his body heat, all the summers he missed and couldn’t make him sweat while trapped between the mattress and his body weight.

Nie Mingjue maps Lan Xichen’s hard cock in a myriad of kisses, from hilt to tip, sometimes a flick of his tongue to make him arch his spine in a futile attempt to pursue his mouth. All while his fingers enter him and stretch him unyieldingly. He gives long strokes of his tongue on his length, unhurried, meant to tease, to draw out of him more of those little noises he lives for. “I need you,” he breathes out as a plea.

Crawling up his body, Nie Mingjue spares not a single kiss on every inch of skin under his lips, all flushed cheeks and a now mussed ponytail. He thrusts his fingers a little faster, circling his hole and noting the slight discomfort in between Lan Xichen’s eyebrows has turned into a pleasurable one. He could have taken him in the cold spring, he could have ravished him raw and he knows Lan Xichen would have let him, the need of him surpassed by everything imaginable. But nothing compares to this, to those times they locked themselves up in a room to forget the world and live off each other’s bodies and souls until exhaustion. He withdraws his fingers, his hand coating his cock with the remnants of oil. He’s ready to slide home in what he hopes isn’t a desperate, ruthless onslaught. But it probably will.

All of a sudden, Lan Xichen rolls them over, catching him off-guard. His back sinks in the comfortable mattress, and his head on the pillows. Lan Xichen straddles his stomach as he braces himself on his chest, fondling the hardness of his well-trained muscles. “Xichen?” A playful smirk tinges his name. Lan Xichen straightens, getting rid of his mussed bun. Long strands of hair drape down his shoulders while he revels in the view below him. Even if he tried, Nie Mingjue wouldn’t be able to free himself from his hold.

He’s almost annoyed when he cannot recognize Nie Mingjue’s ruthless features in this young, unblemished body. Those scars he traced with his lips, those he knew by heart and tried to heal with a blue streak of kisses aren’t there anymore. He strokes gingerly the marks of the Yazi’s claws on his shoulder, smiling. There are new ones, there will always be. His hand drifts to his heart, his warm palm feeling the unbridled beating of his heart; scars he couldn’t heal on their past life but that he will mend this time around.

The grumpy man he came to love deeper than life is still behind those brown, gentle eyes. It’s him, but free of all the troubles and anguish that once haunted him day and night. Maybe he did right by them after all; maybe this speckle of selfishness will bring them back what they lost. A full moon and a rain of ashes remind him of that night, when he smiled at his soul and was contented with a small chance of having him again between his arms. Lan Xichen smiles so widely his cheeks hurt and his eyes water. “I love you. Always have and always will,” he says, and as if Nie Mingjue could read his mind, he straightens, cups his face and takes his mouth as he breathes out his answer: _so do I._

With one last kiss on his spit-licked lips, Lan Xichen pushes him back against the bed. “Behave.” He scoots down, reaching behind to grab his cock. His hand wraps around him, feeling how thick and hard he is. If he had to guess, he’d say he has nothing to envy to the man of the past. His stomach curls as he gives a long stroke, pulling at his skin, relishing in the soft moan that leaves Nie Mingjue’s lips. He swells in his hand, at every stroke, at every caress, and his impatience spikes.

His hands crawl up his thighs, grasping his flesh, squeezing him as an answer to his caresses. Nie Mingjue spreads his legs until he cannot anymore; they mold Lan Xichen’s knee pits as they entangle in a lover’s embrace. He’s at his mercy, and that’s exactly where he longs to be for the rest of his -second- life. His hips lift, and Nie Mingjue’s breath seizes in his chest. The head of his cock prods at his slicked hole. Lan Xichen aligns himself, taking a deep breath before his knees give in and Nie Mingjue breaches halfway in.

The muscles at his thighs twitch, his hands moving to the front to seek support in Nie Mingjue’s body. He waits, but his insatiable lover bucks upward and steals a moan. The delicious burn he gets has been missed, those hands leaving reddened marks on his legs, his cock halfway in and ready to slide home thoroughly. “Mingjue-xiong,” he mumbles, glancing down at him behind hooded lids. His hips roll down, stretching him further on as he molds his lap and gasps, full to the brim.

Greedy hands rove up his hips and spread his butt cheeks, fingertips feeling the place where they are joined. It’s scorching hot inside him, so tight he doubts he can move when all Nie Mingjue wants is to slam into him endlessly until he has nothing more to give. “I must be in heaven or you’re a dream,” he grunts, thrashing his head back and lifting his hips up.

Lan Xichen chuckles, pushing downward to hinder his attempts. If he allowed him to, he’d be already bested on the mattress and full of his lust. Oh, if only he didn’t want to elongate this new first time between them! Bracing himself on his firm stomach, Lan Xichen pulls him out and sinks back again where he belongs. It feels so delicious a clear trail drips down his cock and into Nie Mingjue’s stomach.

Smooth, warm palms over his butt cheeks spur him on, following his feigned shy movements. He relishes every inch of that heavenly cock leaving his body and gliding back in. Nie Mingjue adds movements of his own, his hips rocking into him, thrusting upward to find his heat, that nigh unbearable tightness that steals the air out of his lungs.

“Dage, more,” Lan Xichen gasps. Nie Mingjue has always been weak to his pleas. Like a dutiful lover, he grasps his tender skin to keep him in place and pounds into him faster. Grunting, squirming to get more of him even though Lan Xichen is about to crumble on top of him and cease his resistance.

Legs boneless, his skin covered in a thin veil of perspiration, Lan Xichen whips his head back, bouncing when Nie Mingjue shoves his cock into him and their hips slap, eliciting shameful noises of flesh against flesh. But he has to open his eyes wide, meeting his heated gaze, just in case he wakes up from a sweet, sweaty dream. “It’s really you,” he whines.

“It’s really us.” With a groan, Nie Mingjue presses with the balls of his feet on the mattress, his cock balls-deep inside him. Lan Xichen tumbles over, and he uses the leverage and the momentum to roll them over and tackle Lan Xichen on his back. Remaining inside him, he squeezes his buttocks and slides even deeper until there’s nothing in between them except for their mingled essences and desperate bodies trying to become one.

The air leaves his lungs in a sultry moan, and he forgets his own name when that unmerciful cock withdraws only to come back ten times harder. Nie Mingjue has him sprawled and defenseless, and the only thing he can do is to cling to his shoulders and hide his flustered complexion in the crook of his neck.

Nie Mingjue puffs his hot breath against his ear, his hips slamming into him as if he knew no other trade than stealing his pleasure thrust by thrust. His strong thighs tense, keeping him in place with the only purpose of allowing Nie Mingjue to drill into him faster. Lan Xichen glimpses rapture long forgotten trapped against his own bed by his lover’s body. They fit as they always have. “Harder,” he whispers, his nails leaving red trails on his back, his legs trembling. He already envisages the soreness this ruthless mating will cause him and yet the pleasure overrules everything.

His onslaughts become erratic, desperate, his cock pulsing as Nie Mingjue spills inside him. He sinks deeper, and deeper as if he would never want to leave. Lan Xichen feels the hot spurts filling him and hugs him closer, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He had no time to seek his own pleasure, admiring how he owns him again after a lifetime apart. Nie Mingjue hasn’t changed at all. He’s the same easy, luscious lover that rampages over your soul and body as the most animalistic worship. “Now I’m home,” he breathes out languidly against his neck, his half-hard cock still inside him, refusing to let go. They would never let go of each other.

Lan Xichen maps his sweaty neck in kisses, cupping his face and finding his mouth salty, with the taste of longing and recently found hope. “It couldn’t be any other way,” Lan Xichen says, his lips stretching in a smile.

“I haven’t forgotten about you.” Nie Mingjue envelopes his cock in a tight fist, and his hole clenches around him. But instead of slipping outside, Nie Mingjue swells inside him. “I would never neglect your pleasure.” His mouth curls upward in a sly smile.

“You’re still hard.” Lan Xichen watches, astonished, how Nie Mingjue straightens, kneeling between his legs, and pulls out just an inch only to sheathe back in his heat. By now, he’s stretched and soft and full of his cum. Lan Xichen takes him well with not a hint of discomfort, and yet the surge of pleasure that courses through him, catches him off-guard.

“I will never tire of you.” Nie Mingjue strokes him, his other hand gripping his waist, his hips barely moving, swaying enough so Lan Xichen can relish in the sweet pleasure of being full of his cock a while longer. “And I’m young enough to exhaust you.”

“You needn’t be young to exhaust me,” Lan Xichen chuckles, but his laugh dies in a whine when that wonderfully shaped cock brushes against his prostate. Nie Mingjue notices, and exploits it, aiming where Lan Xichen’s legs twitch, where his cock jerks and his mouth pours out another moan.

“Do you remember our first times together?” Nie Mingjue loosens the fist, stroking him gently, enough to keep him on edge, ready to make him spill whenever he deems fit.

“How to forget them?” His chest heaves at every word, his arms slack beside his head while he surrenders, and yields to Nie Mingjue’s lovemaking.

“How we lost track of time,” Nie Mingjue says. “How we rested only to get more upon waking up; how I would spend hours inside you just for the sake of being there.”

“Dage…” Lan Xichen gasps, defeated by the soft caresses of his hand, and the fullness of his cock inside him. “Let me find release.”

“Or how you would fuck me until I was so full of you, I’d cry out your name for more,” Nie Mingjue murmurs, his voice raspy and low, his eyes darkening. “Will we get all of that back?” He doesn’t need an answer. His hand tightens around him, moving faster, and Nie Mingjue leans forward, interlacing his other hand with Lan Xichen’s while he hovers over his face, relishing in his expression contorted in pleasure while he seeks out his pleasure in the safety of his hand.

Nie Mingjue shushes the many pleas for more, relinquishing not an inch of his body, his hand keeping his pace while he strokes him, his hips slamming faster, his cock swollen and ready to spill again. Their lips brush gingerly, as the solemn promise that they exist again together in the same world and no one can take that from them.

“I want to miss nothing of your release.” A smirk stretches on his lips while Lan Xichen wrinkles his eyes shut, mouth agape. A soft moan from the back of his throat leaves his lungs while his cock spills and paints his chest in pearlescent stripes. Nie Mingjue strokes him through his climax, smiling at the pink watercolor blush that spreads down his neck and the fluttering around his cock. “Beautiful as ever,” he whispers teasingly, releasing his softened cock and pulling his own out.

One last glance at Lan Xichen senseless and boneless brings a wide grin to his lips. He turns him around, lying on top of him while peppering kisses across his shoulders. “I’m not done with you yet,” he mumbles, dragging his lips over his skin while his hand moves Lan Xichen’s generous hair away from his neck.

“You’re mad, dage,” Lan Xichen purrs, his eyes closed but his lips smiling. He doesn’t even mind being on top of his own mess and ruining the bedding as they did in the prime of his youth. He senses a trail dripping down his rim and sighs. Nie Mingjue bites his cheek, the length of his body grinding against him, his cock sliding in between his butt cheeks, the way smoothed by a mixture of oil and cum. “Dage!”

“I love you madly if that makes me a madman so be it,” Nie Mingjue retorts.

Lan Xichen stands on his forearms and earns a lick on his cheek and a sweet bite on his earlobe, but that only spurs Nie Mingjue on, trying desperately to find his way inside him. “If you don’t behave, I’ll tie you up,” Lan Xichen warns. He was not ready at all for a twenty-year-old Nie Mingjue all over him with a ton of stamina to spare. His lover nudges one of his legs open to have better access, and desire pools in his groin again.

“Do it,” he says, a hint of smugness tingeing his words. “But you belong in my bed and you’re not leaving it.”

“This is _my_ bed,” Lan Xichen teases. 

With a mindful thrust, Nie Mingjue finds his way inside him, and with a moan mixed of want and exhaustion, Lan Xichen yields and welcomes his still hard cock inside him. “Ours, and you mine,” he whispers low and tender just for his ears.

“Dage…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ╭(♡･ㅂ･)و ̑̑  
> Xichen, I'm afraid you won't be leaving your bed anytime soon... and we'll know all about it xDDD See y'all next Friday!
> 
> PS: The next chapter is a smutty one too..... because no one stopped me and my hands slipped! Does anyone like bottom!NMJ?  
> ε=ε=ε=ε=ε” “(/*’-‘*)/


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shameless chapter because Nie Mingjue needed to be worshiped a lil bit... just a warning tag so nobody reads anything they don't want to *cough, cough* #Rimming

Entangled in their own mussed sheets stained with the proofs of their love, Nie Mingjue lies on his chest, his arms resting over Lan Xichen’s lap. His lover finds comfort in the many pillows at his back while he recovers from the exertions of the past few hours. Judging by the sun seeping through the windows of the hanshi, the evening has settled in. After another hot bath, they came back to the bed and lazed around, something Lan Xichen hasn't done in years.

“You always loved doing that,” Nie Mingjue says with a dopey smile on his lips and as naked as he came into the world; both unabashed of their nudity when it’s just the two of them.

Lan Xichen folds the forehead ribbon around Nie Mingjue’s wrist, loop after loop, in a loose embrace that tightens when he joins both ends in a beautiful lace knot. “Because you’re mine and I have no need to conduct myself in your presence,” Lan Xichen quips. He cradles Nie Mingjue’s young features in his hand, wondering if he should have noticed sooner the signs that were there since the beginning. But then a strange calmness invades him; everything happened the moment it had to, not sooner, not later.

They met when they had to meet; they fell in love again in the sweetest of ways, slow as the seasons, fast as a spring downpour that catches you off-guard and leaves you drenched. As if fated, as if their paths diverted thirty years ago and crossed a few times only to end at this precise moment. The end of their struggle, of a road full of bumps. This is the beginning of a life together, entangled forever until they both ascend to heaven or roam the earth as companions for life.

“My cultivation isn’t back.” Nie Mingjue sighs. All his memories are slowly returning and many more startle him at every moment, but his cultivation is by no means, what it was in the past. Chifeng-zun was a cultivator that had peaked through his prime, strengthening his golden core and his expertise in battle and war, the most grueling training, and a life of dedication. He was twenty-eight years old when he died, he still had so much to do, so much to live for. His eyes glance at Lan Xichen with infinite pain behind them at the life that was stolen from them. But this second chance brings a smile to his lips. The knowledge about his past life is there, which will help him hone his skills, but his spiritual energy needs years of cultivation to reach or even surpass his old self.

Guessing what’s going on in his mind, Lan Xichen stifles a laugh. “We have all our lives to cultivate together, Mingjue-xiong.”

Nie Mingjue crawls up his body with predatory intentions and a wolfish grin. “Dual cultivation with you, Xichen?” he purrs. “I ache to feel your spiritual energy invading every fiber of my being.” He takes his mouth, his tongue parting his lips and retreating only to swipe again against those plump, virtuous lips.

“You will,” Lan Xichen breathes out. Nie Mingjue reclines by his side, his hand fondling his chest and down his side while a subtle furrow knits his eyebrows.

“I’ve been wondering…” he mumbles, his dark brown eyes meeting Lan Xichen’s worrisome expression. “If they helped you free me… where is Baxia exactly? My old saber is lost, isn’t it?”

Lan Xichen nods, taking a deep breath. If Nie Huaisang didn’t share the details of that night with Nie Mingjue and the only memory is about him wielding Baxia, no wonder it has raised more questions about how they liberated his soul. “As far as we know, Baxia has Jin Guangyao shackled to that coffin.” He sees the spark of rage behind his eyes. This was the last thing their sworn brother could take from him: his weapon. “It was the price we paid to absorb the resentfulness trapping you and strengthening his fierce corpse.”

Nie Mingjue suspected Baxia wouldn’t be in his hands again, that the saber spirit that accompanied him in many battles was somehow not in this world. But listening to the truth from Lan Xichen’s mouth makes it irrefutable. “I would have liked to wield my saber again,” he mumbles. “Although…”

“… it would damage your golden core as it did back then,” Lan Xichen finishes for him, somehow relieved that Baxia can’t hurt Nie Mingjue and serves a higher purpose suppressing Jin Guangyao.

“Yes.” His hopes of reuniting with the saber die in a sigh. They slew so many enemies, fought and won so many battles. It was his blade the one that beheaded Wen Ruohan’s son and led the war in the right direction; the direction of victory. Baxia was hard to control, tainted his temper. It had a toll on his golden core, but they were so alike he feels a pang of anguish at the loss of the saber that knew him so well.

Lan Xichen interlaces their hands, hoping to offer comfort to his rambling mind. Nie Mingjue has lived a life without hatred, without Jin Guangyao, and he has no idea how he conciliates two different lives in one single mind. Perhaps it’s just a long line to follow, past and present and everything in between. “I never considered how the war changed me, how my father’s death changed me,” Nie Mingjue says.

He wants to make up for past mistakes, but the only thing he can do is learn from them, enjoy a life full of love without dwelling in the injustices that robbed him of his sleep and his common sense and, sooner than expected, dug his grave too. “It wasn’t just the war what made us what we are,” Lan Xichen quips, remembering his own father’s tragic death. “You were the only light I could follow in dark nights and even darker days, dage.”

“I was twenty-eight and tired and angry as if I was a hundred years old.”

“I know…” Lan Xichen rolls to a side to face him. As unavoidable waves of the sea, the past will come from time to time to gloom their moods and try to snatch their happiness away. Not for long, Lan Xichen promises for both. “Don’t brood. We’re together at last.”

“I’m not sad.” Nie Mingjue’s lips curl upward. “I won’t waste my life being sad or angry.”

“What if I like you grumpy?” Lan Xichen jests.

“I can’t possibly know what would ruin my mood with you by my side,” Nie Mingjue hides in the crook of his neck and inhales deeply, finding the scent of sweet dreams in his skin and the comfort of his body against him.

“Don’t pretend you’re not the same hot-blooded and short-tempered man I know and came to love!” Lan Xichen chides and earns a soft bite on his neck. “You just need the right provocation,” he whispers, his hand roving down his side until he palms the lush curve of a perfectly toned butt cheek.

“Lan Huan,” Nie Mingjue calls. “You shouldn’t have lived a life in waiting.” Lan Xichen stiffens in his arms, his breath seizing in his chest. “You deserved to be happy, and loved, and everything I couldn’t give you because I was…” The word dead constricts his throat. 

Even before a qi deviation ended with his life, Nie Mingjue was so focused on his grudges and his own hate toward the injustices in his life that he was careless, giving Lan Xichen’s love for granted. He was so selfish as to believe no matter how he acted he could always come back to him; to the safety of his arms, the warm embrace of his love. And it was true, except his own obsessions achieved the opposite and then it was too late. Pressing his lips on the tender skin of his neck, Nie Mingjue promises to never take for granted the immeasurable love they profess for each other ever again, and to treasure it instead.

“Dage, I would have waited a thousand years for you here or in heaven,” Lan Xichen says, a smile stretching his lips with utmost sincerity. “Loneliness was a consolation to my soul most days.”

Nie Mingjue cups his face with warm, caring fingers, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He reveals sharp cheekbones slightly blushed by his own words. “Even if you would have lovers, I would love you just the same,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, their legs intertwined, their naked bodies gliding against each other as if missing a constant touch. “And snatch you from them…” A smug smile curls his lips.

“How could I?” Lan Xichen chuckles. The mere thought of loving someone else caused him dizziness.

“But then you met me.” Nie Mingjue licks his lips with playful intents. “You fell for me first-sight, I must say.”

“That is so not true!” Lan Xichen scoffs, a pink watercolor spreading on his cheeks and neck. “You were as insistent as back then, even shamefully bold for a youth.”

“Can you blame me for falling in love with you twice?” Nie Mingjue purses his lips. “Because only a twenty-year-old me with a crush on you would dive into the cold spring.” Lan Xichen breaks into a laugh, and Nie Mingjue uses the moment of weakness to tackle him against the bed, his forearms at both sides of his head, trapping his hair, missing not a single detail of the rapture unleashed in his features. Lan Xichen chuckles, his eyes wrinkled shut, his hair mussed over the pillows. Nie Mingjue swoons with delight. “How I’ve missed your laugh.” The melody that made his days go brighter and his nights merrier.

“I had forgotten how to…” Lan Xichen says, catching his breath.

“I conquered you twice, who can say that?” Nie Mingjue retorts. Two lives, two different men that happened to be the same, and yet since the moment he saw him, his heart was subdued to follow his strides. His soul kept looking for him, for the clear sound of his voice, for the familiar touch of his skin, for his company above rules and appropriate demeanor. The first time they touched, Nie Mingjue knew Lan Xichen was his, unattainable, so far out of his reach, so godlike he could only aspire to admire him from a safe distance. But it didn’t deter his actions. They belong to each other, in his past life, in this one that it’s like a gift from fate, and in many more to come because their souls will keep finding each other; like a law of the universe.

“You found me.” Lan Xichen lifts his head off the pillows and melts into his mouth, heady of him, of love, of the glee surging through him and reminding him what to be loved is, what means to be treasured in his arms, his only worry how to abuse his mouth until their lips are red and swollen and tingling for more. “And don’t think about leaving anytime soon or I’ll chase you wherever you go.”

The words come out so naturally, it sends a frisson through his spine. At a loss for words, Nie Mingjue drowns again in the depths of his mouth, wondering what has he done to deserve this, to deserve him. His lips taste of everything he’s ever wanted, the sweetest of treats, the more wholesome food, and he will crave for him for the rest of his days. Nie Mingjue bites softly at his lower lip, pulling at it and humming from the back of his throat.

But then, A sudden thought crosses his mind, remembering the saber he couldn’t unsheathe nor wield. “Dreamcatcher!” Nie Mingjue jumps out of bed in a single movement while Lan Xichen blinks in disbelief.

“Dage!” He straightens, watching him fetch his holy weapon from the bundle near the tub. Their clothes hang from the folding screen, some discarded on the floor, but Nie Mingjue turns around as he came into the world, and Lan Xichen stifles a laugh. “You’re naked.” But Nie Mingjue inches his way toward the wooden bed, his hand clenching tightly around the saber. His knuckles are white and contrast with the gold and red scabbard. He locks eyes with Lan Xichen, a wolfish half-smile too menacing for a youth marring his features. It speaks of who’s underneath his skin.

“What if…”

“Try,” Lan Xichen says. He covers his nudeness primly with the thin sheets, his eyes fixed on Nie Mingjue’s actions and movements.

The gold decorations glitter when the light hits on them. Nie Mingjue grasps the tail-like hilt, his knuckles touching the dragonhead of the guard but instead of spitting fire, its menacing fangs breathe out the mighty sharpness of the steel. Lesser cultivators would have to wield it with both hands, but Nie Mingjue, even in a young body, flexes his arm muscles and single-handedly, pulls at the sword. Lan Xichen’s breath seizes in his chest and his heart stops at a halt.

A clean, sharp sound rings in their ears when he unsheathes the saber. The curved blade reflects the light it had never seen until then, from the base where it’s sturdier to the beautiful curve it creates when it widens to the pointy tip. The blade has never been used; not a single scratch, not a dent, only a pristine beauty that shrinks his heart and reflects the world. A name glowers in red as it engraves itself in the base of the blade: Dreamcatcher. Nie Mingjue chuckles from the back of his throat, his hand squeezing the hilt. He feels the weight of the weapon, finding the center of gravity. Sabers are powerful but hard to master; not every cultivator could get used to its peculiar weight and the strength of his attacks, but the Qinghe Nie Sect founder was a butcher, their cultivators training their strength above anything else. And he’s no one else but Chifeng-zun.

Nie Mingjue pulls the corner of his mouth upward in a smile, getting used quickly to the balance of the weapon and guessing the strength hidden in the saber in comparison with his own and what he remembers about Baxia. When he makes a flourish, Lan Xichen reclines on a side and laughs at the scene of him naked playing with the newly-found weapon. He rests his head on his hand, his eyes brimming with amusement.

“What an exceptional blade,” Nie Mingjue mumbles. As if it had just come out of a heavenly forge, he lifts the saber in front of his face, the side of the blade reflecting his golden-brown gaze. The spirit inside leaves a tingle in his hand, but in a different way than Baxia did. It’s not as demanding, more like curiously venturing into his master’s spiritual energy to acknowledge who will dictate its life from now on.

Baxia had a vortex of resentfulness attached to it, that crawled upon him filling him with a sentiment of despair and rage unmatched by anything he has felt except for the day he died. This spirit isn’t human but from out of this world, and the sword contains its power. It enhances his cultivation instead of feeding off his golden core. “It’s beautiful,” Nie Mingjue whispers. It feels warm as a bonfire, powerful, harmful if intended, but peaceful at the same time; like it wouldn’t harm unless asked, subdued to his will. There’s not a trace of resentfulness in the being, and it lifts a weight off his shoulders.

“You are,” Lan Xichen quips, his lips curling in a smile as he ogles the feast for the eyes displayed in front of him. Nie Mingjue may be oblivious to his unmatched body and how Lan Xichen rivets his eyes over him and the ridges of his muscles, but the Jade of Lan knows the sudden thirst in his throat has nothing to do with a heavenly sword, despite how unique and ravishing. “What are you going to do with two swords?”

“Wield them both with pride, I cannot abandon my sect’s tradition and neglect my other saber,” Nie Mingjue answers, reluctant to sheathe the sword back in its scabbard while he admires it a while longer, overjoyed to finally understand the old Yazi’s words: he’s awake and worthy of the weapon. It had nothing to do with his cultivation but with the awakening of his memories. Is everything he’s done since birth lead him here by Lan Xichen’s side? His heart thumps at the thought.

“Come back to my bed, Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Xichen says. “Unless you want to keep playing with swords.” He lies on the bed, kicking the sheets that until now covered his peerless body, revealing infinite jade skin he has yet to kiss and worship.

Nie Mingjue prowls toward the bed, sliding the blade unhurriedly back in its scabbard. A seamless swoosh echoes in the room, his eyes trickling down Lan Xichen’s body unabashed of their deeds. The mere sight of him curls his stomach nice and warm, and when he sees the half-hard length resting against his thigh, he wets his lips in anticipation. He leaves the saber supported against the nightstand, his fingertips stroking the hilt with the promise of future enemies to defeat; of rousing the spirit dragon contained.

“I thought I had left you satisfied.” Nie Mingjue crawls up the bed and hovers over Lan Xichen, a playful smile curling his lips. “At least for a while longer.”

“Not quite.” Lan Xichen purses his lips, averting Nie Mingjue’s yearning mouth. “You had your fill of me,” his tongue flicks over his lips, his eyes narrowing, “but I feel like indulging a bit more… in you.” Gentle fingers trail down Nie Mingjue’s neck, following the peak of his Adam’s apple and down his sinewy chest.

Nie Mingjue blushes lovingly. “Xichen,” he gasps. He always does at the prospect of his lover having his way with him. Pleasure has many names in Lan Xichen’s presence. Sometimes it’s Lan Xichen relinquishing control while he bites, owns, and sates his own whims on his body. The heavens know he has been doing exactly that for the past hours. Others, Nie Mingjue longs for his lover’s touch; for his fingers, his tongue, the hard length of his cock entering him again and again until he cannot take it any longer. Those nights he had no other worry in his mind or his heart than submitting to Lan Xichen’s lovemaking.

The mere thought of reliving these luscious fantasies makes him tremble, and his cock stands firmly between his legs, swelling at his own treacherous thoughts, the tip oozing a clear droplet on Lan Xichen’s stomach. He should be exhausted, and yet a jolt of desire surges through him.

“You liked that idea.” Lan Xichen grasps his cock and revels in the soft whine that leaves Nie Mingjue’s lips. “Will you get on your knees for me, dage?” He gives a long, gentle pull, almost like a caress that leaves him wanting more. “Will you let me taste you?” Another long stroke of his loose fist and Nie Mingjue hides in the crook of his neck, the air leaving his lungs in a sigh.

“Whatever pleases you,” he whispers into his ear, sucking softly at a cold earlobe while Lan Xichen’s hands roam up and down his stomach. Before Nie Mingjue traps him under his weight, Lan Xichen escapes the cage of his arms. Nie Mingjue lies on his stomach, feeling the warmth of his lover on the sheets. His lips trace his way up to his arm, and Nie Mingjue traps his mouth in a chaste peck.

“It is you I aim to please, dage.” The sultry whisper swells his heart, but those smiling lips avert his own in favor of his body.

Escaping his kisses, Lan Xichen drags his lips over his strong, relaxed shoulders. He swipes his ponytail away with the back of his hand, a forbearing flick of his tongue at the base of his neck. Nie Mingjue’s little hairs prickle at the sensation, and a soft groan leaves his lungs. A myriad of kisses and tender bites follow down his back; Lan Xichen’s tongue trailing the dip of his spine in a sinful path that both know where will it end.

His lips are like a pair of burning embers leaving rosy marks on his skin and an ineffable imprint on his soul. Nie Mingjue is already hard against the bedding, anticipating his lover’s ministrations. Lan Xichen crawls down the length of his body, nuzzling at the dimples of his back while lying more comfortably on his stomach. He cups both butt cheeks with greedy hands, long, slender fingers kneading his muscles, his mouth biting a mouthful of his flesh as if it were a ripe loquat.

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re enjoying the perks of my situation?” Nie Mingjue chortles, glancing at him over his shoulder and finding a pair of dark eyes brimming with lust. “And my young body.”

“Because I am,” Lan Xichen quips. His tongue traces the indentations of his teeth, biting again, harder; until Nie Mingjue flinches and a shameful whine comes out of his lips as a protest. “It’s like having you again for the first time.” In years to come, Lan Xichen will witness how Nie Mingjue turns into the man he was, although he’s the same he remembers in the inside and also the youth that not long ago dared to sneak into his heart when it was armored from love or trysts. “Is it your first time, dage?” he teases.

“I…” Nie Mingjue stutters, turning beet-red. He knows all too well he has known no lovers in this life except for Lan Xichen. “… I am everything but a virgin, Xichen.” His name dies in a gasp when Lan Xichen’s fingers tease across the softness of his rim. The tender caress sends a surge of unexpected pleasure.

“I know, I know,” Lan Xichen murmurs. “But your body is until I get my fill of you.” The luscious promise along with the fidgeting of his fingers drive him mad. Nie Mingjue curses under his nose, his hips swaying inadvertently while he gets a soft rubbing on his cock against the silky bedding. His hands wring the sheets, noting a hot breath puffing between his butt cheeks. Deft hands spread him open. “Will you behave, dage?” He bends his leg, exposing himself, and feels Lan Xichen scooting closer and letting out a faint chuckle at his blatant offer. “Will you let me do whatever I want?”

“You know I will.” He sounds breathless, desperate, teased to the limit, but then a hot, wet tongue swipes his way up his rim and he exhales a shameful moan.

Long forgotten memories come back to him in a rush; of nights like this, of their brazenness in bed and the prospect of a lifetime together. Those shameless strokes have sent his heart for a gallop, and Lan Xichen rubs his tongue against his hole and then glides it back and forth, noting how he writhes under his teasing. “I wanted to do this since I met you,” he confesses. Dainty kisses on his lush butt cheeks follow his words. Those wet dreams about a youth he just met peaked at the realization that it was Nie Mingjue all along.

“I wanted to do so many things to you when we met,” he chuckles, “both times.”

The same seemingly innocent tongue that licked at a slow pace becomes impatient and twists and twirls at his own free will. He muffles a moan against the mattress, a hand slowly trailing down his side and finding Lan Xichen’s. He prods against his hole, so tight he cannot breach in yet. He wets him, darting his tongue out and retreating at the rhythm of his breath. Nie Mingjue moves Lan Xichen’s hand away from his butt and spreads himself, eager to get more of him, of this, his reddened face buried in the sheets. He must be quite the desperate picture now, hiding his moans against the bed, his cock twitching, and his hole eager to take him in.

“I’ll be gentle,” Lan Xichen promises, coating a finger in his own spit.

“D-don’t stop.” Nie Mingjue lets out a muttered gasp, a single finger entering him. His willing tongue swipes and strokes the tight muscle. He’s lightheaded, overwhelmed by his own heated breath, his clammy hand groping for his own cheek when all he wants is to push Lan Xichen’s head right in between his butt cheeks. Nie Mingjue trembles, giving in and allowing that slender finger to fuck in and out of him.

He never thought they’d enjoy this again, and gleefulness swells his heart and forces his eyes open to mussed sheets, fearful of waking up. His throat tightens at how expertly Lan Xichen outlines his hole and stretches him with endless patience. “More,” he mumbles and is rewarded by another finger sliding into him and reminding him of the burn and the discomfort of the first one. It’s a slow back and forth that tightens his groin and hardens his cock. Nie Mingjue lifts his buttocks at him, trying to shove them deeper inside him while the tip of his cock slides up and down the bedding. If he keeps this pace, he might come even before Lan Xichen is inside him.

“Don’t rush,” Lan Xichen says, biting gently his fingers. His knuckles white by the grip, leaving red marks on his own flesh. “Let me enjoy you.” Nie Mingjue loosens his grip and Lan Xichen withdraws his fingers, puffing his hot breath against him before he cups both his butt cheeks again, spreading him widely and pushing the tip of his tongue inside him. Nie Mingjue cries out from sheer pleasure, a hand wringing the bedding, the other using its freedom to fist his cock as tightly as he can when he’s losing all his strength at Lan Xichen’s expertise in bed.

Stretched and slick by his saliva, Lan Xichen darts his tongue in and out of him, moaning at the nigh unbearable heat inside him and how the tightness yields to his taut tongue. Nie Mingjue is aware of the generous leaking of his cock, and if he were to stroke himself, he’d come with the soft sensation of Lan Xichen’s tongue up his ass. Awfully tempted, he moans and pumps his neglected erection, but Lan Xichen stops him, grasping the ends of the forehead ribbon that still wraps around his wrist.

“Lan Huan,” he begs but relinquishes with a soft moan. “Please.”

Lan Xichen’s lips curl upward for a moment, his tongue circling his entrance, pushing in and out faster, knowing it isn’t enough to sate him only by the soft whines that come out of his lips. What he loves the most is despite his short temper, his mood swings, and his unnerving haughtiness, Nie Mingjue has none of those for him, never has. This youth is tenfold the soft, caring man he loved, the same traits balanced in a different way. But his moans, his wines, and the way he gasps his name and succumbs to his whims without a single objection make Lan Xichen fall in love with him, deeper if possible.

He gives one last luscious stroke of his tongue, cherishing the way Nie Mingjue’s spine arches. A clear trail joins them, and he bites his butt cheek before he crawls up his body, dragging his tongue all the way up, from his tailbone to in between his shoulder blades. If he could, Lan Xichen would spend a lifetime tasting his skin, biting his flesh, and owning his lover in any way imaginable. The thought that they can do this now and forever stretches his lips in a wide smile.

“You’re as delicious as I remember,” Lan Xichen teases, kissing a reddened, sweaty cheek. Nie Mingjue slumps on the bed, his lips mumbling an inaudible plea at his rim cold and wet but unattended. Lan Xichen kneels on the bed, watching his lover missing his touch.

“You’re a tease,” Nie Mingjue claims, standing on his trembling knees and looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse at Lan Xichen’s swollen lips. He has that naughty smile he sports when he drinks too much wine, when he wants to climb up his body and succumb to their needs without a trace of shame in his actions or his mind. Nie Mingjue treasures those memories; nights in Qinghe, Lanling, or Gusu, when a jar of wine was enough to enhance the beauty of his already flustered cheeks and goaded him to misbehave.

Every time his forehead ribbon ended up tied anywhere in his body, Nie Mingjue knew he had lost a battle against his better judgment. It didn’t matter if it was appropriate, if they were in a tea house where anyone could catch them red-handed, or if they had to hurry and dress in the middle of their encounter because of some reason or the other. The way Lan Xichen would laugh and smile at their misfortunes made the world go round again. And he lived for his smile.

He still does. “You have no idea how I’ve missed us,” Lan Xichen says, mapping Nie Mingjue’s back with both hands, his chin resting on his shoulder. Seems like Lan Xichen is also the same collected disciple that would refuse a kiss until he was stripped of his forehead ribbon or heady from a cup of rice wine.

“Will you forgive me?” Nie Mingjue stiffens, overwhelmed by his own memories and the tender embrace of his lover.

“Forgive you?” Lan Xichen’s hands halt.

“For leaving you alone.” Nie Mingjue turns his head around, finding Lan Xichen’s forgiving eyes.

“Oh, dage.” He winds his arms around him, holding him tight against his body. How can they both feel they failed the other when they’re not the ones to blame for their misfortunes?

“I won’t. Ever again,” Nie Mingjue promises, his heart beating faster when he cannot find the consolation of his eyes. “If I learned something about my death it was this, that I need you, more of us, of this…”

Lan Xichen shushes him, peppering kisses across the curve of his neck. “I know.” He won’t fall asleep tonight. Lan Xichen will admire him in his sleep but won’t close an eye, fearful of losing him, of this vanishing into thin air, of being trapped in a whimsical dream. He squeezes him in his arms, biting back a sob, nuzzling against his nape and inhaling deeply the musky scent of Nie Mingjue. How didn’t he notice earlier? His lips stretch in a hopeful smile. “I should’ve known it was you all along.”

Their resemblance was there, so obvious to everyone, the many signs he refused to see, the way he smiled, the way he talked, the way he saw him fall in love with him, confusing it with admiration for a hot minute. “I thought about kissing you since we shared that jar of wine.” Lan Xichen chuckles.

“Did you want to taste the wine in my mouth?” he breathes out the words, his hands roaming the expanse of his chest, his tongue darting out to lick the shell of his ear. Nie Mingjue groans. “I would have allowed you to.” He suckles at his earlobe, his thumbs circling his nipples and noting them harden under his touch. Nie Mingjue’s fingers thread in his hair, cupping his nape. The pain and the past will never get in between them no matter how unbearable the memories, how painful to get over the dreams that slipped in between their fingers. They got each other anew.

“I need you inside me now,” Nie Mingjue whispers low and raspy.

“Why so impatient, dage?”

“You tested my patience with your tongue.” Lan Xichen graces him with a soft chuckle before he reaches for the balm. Nie Mingjue’s heart thumps faster eyeing those fingers warming up the oil. His knees spread wider, and he leans forward until he braces himself on the bed with both hands.

He wants to bow and let his lover sate their thirst for both, but Lan Xichen stops him. “Stay like that.” He kisses his back, ensconcing himself between his legs, a hand on his hip, the other gliding in between his butt cheeks. His spine curves in a luscious arch; in a shameless offering that laces his stomach. His long hair gathered in a long ponytail, drapes down his shoulder and at the front as daintily as a moan leaves his throat.

Nie Mingjue bites back his whines when he pushes a finger inside him and quickly makes way for a second one. Deft, long fingers play him more expertly than any instrument. Lan Xichen always had a gift to make him feel safe, cared for, loved above all his flaws and mistakes. “Xichen, please, if you keep teasing me…” His cock stands firm and swollen, the tip oozing a ceaseless trail. Wringing the bedding with both hands, he leans forward, his arms giving in, his cheek resting on the mattress. Lan Xichen’s fingers are relentless, turning the burn into pleasure at every twist of his wrist, but they’re not nearly what he wants. “I can’t…” And then he’s empty.

Lan Xichen coats his length in oil, his cock hard and aching to slide inside him. The softness of his hand and the balm along with the sight of Nie Mingjue bent over for him, makes his cock twitch. He cleans his hand on the already stained sheets, grasping tightly his butt cheek while aligning himself. His chest heaves along with his ragged breath.

It’s so gentle, that first time the tip prods at his hole and slips inside by the generous lubrication and Lan Xichen’s mindful sway. Both moan in unison and Lan Xichen knits his eyebrows together at the tightness constricting his girth, at the heat that awaits him deeper inside. Nie Mingjue clenches around him as if he could swallow him whole and keep him there for eternity, but soon he relaxes, yields to him and Lan Xichen rewards him with a smooth, slow glide. His cock sheathes home and stretches him in what seems a nigh unbearable strain.

The air leaves his lungs, his forehead pressed against the mattress, his body tense. Lan Xichen’s cock is not as generous as his own but by no means small. He feels the stretch, the overwhelming pressure on his rim, and he reminds himself to relax. Gentle hands knead his hips with endless patience while he endures the sudden intrusion. Lan Xichen stole his first time in his past life, in a night when he had indulged way too much and found the courage to voice out his fantasies to his lover. Lan Xichen fulfilled them all. He sunk himself in his body and offered the pleasures that until then, had been his to enjoy.

“Dage,” Lan Xichen calls, overwhelmed by the stillness ruling the moment.

Lost in his thoughts and the sensations coursing through his body, the first thrust catches him off-guard. Nie Mingjue grunts. His knees falter, his lover filling him to the brim while he twists in pleasure. “Yes,” he gasps. “Again.” He struggles to stay upright while Lan Xichen pulls out all the way and shoves himself back inside him in a forceful onslaught. His hips mold and push against him for a brief moment only to leave him empty and slam back in the next breath.

Both his hands keep his hips in place while he takes him over and over. One moment he’s empty and aching, the next his cock stretches him and plunges back in a ruthless lunge. But it’s a slow pace, one that’s driving him insane. He feels his cock all the way in and out, mumbling curses under his nose because he’d want him to never retreat. But then there’s that delectable torture when he sheathes back in and his knees tremble, his body aches, his hole burns, and the air leaves his lungs in a shameful moan. Then, in his mind, like a mantra, _again_. “More, Lan Huan,” he mumbles almost inaudibly.

Lan Xichen’s gaze is fixed on his lower back, on his cheeks reddened by the slapping of their bodies, of his gaping hole clenching into thin air when he pulls out and stretching widely when his cock disappears inside him. Strands of black, long hair get in his way, but nothing would make him stop, not when Nie Mingjue asks for more. He slams back into him and stays there while he catches his breath. Soft and tamed, like the lover he remembers, like the youth of his dreams, like all he ever wanted.

He stretches a hand and gets ahold of his ponytail. A twist and a turn, and he tugs, not harshly, not in any way to harm him. He pulls until Nie Mingjue stands upright on his knees, his fingertips barely grazing the bed, and he lets go when his back rests against his chest, his hands hustling to grip tightly his waist. “Missed me?” Lan Xichen’s tongue tastes the salty flavor of his sweat on the skin at his neck; the tip goes up to his earlobe. “Is it as you remembered?”

“Even better,” Nie Mingjue gasps, thrashing his head back and resting it against Lan Xichen’s shoulder. His spine arches, his knees anchored in the bed, a smile curling his lips upward. The discomfort is gone, only a sensation of fullness and wholeheartedness that shrink his heart. He’s again in the arms of his lover.

Lan Xichen mimics his smile upon listening to his words, reveling in the softened muscle trapping him and the heat challenging his stamina. His hands grope for his buttocks while he peppers kisses over his shoulder. Unmoving, granting them both a much-needed recess before they finally collapse and succumb to the desire coiling down in them.

“Tired already?” Nie Mingjue’s lips curl in an insouciant smile. He wraps a hand around his cock, gasping softly at the sudden jolt of pleasure. With Lan Xichen buried deep inside him, he strokes himself languidly, the ends of the forehead ribbon that wraps around his wrist tickling his thigh. A bite on his neck steals a muttered wail.

“Don’t touch yourself…” Lan Xichen firms the grasp on his butt cheeks, keeping him in place while he rocks into him, his cock sliding in and out in a subtle back and forth. Nie Mingjue fists his cock one last time before he complies, a clear trail smearing on his knuckles. Lan Xichen moves his hands at the front and hooks them on his thighs, slender, long fingers squeezing his flesh. Lan Xichen gets ahold of him while he resumes his pace; he slams into him unhurriedly, pulling halfway out and plunging back in, his hips molding his backside, his hands making sure he takes it. Nie Mingjue groans, bracing himself on the bed again and glancing back at him over his shoulder.

The exertions enhance Lan Xichen’s beauty, his lips swollen by the bites of his own teeth, his body covered in a subtle veil of perspiration, his hair pooling at both sides of his face. Deep, dark eyes stare at his body with a love-struck glance, his hips pounding faster. Nie Mingjue writhes and falls face-first on the bed, his knees weakened, and Lan Xichen topples over him without ceasing the relentlessness of his thrusts.

Nie Mingjue can be harsh in an outburst of pleasure, but Lan Xichen seems to never get his fill of him. He has the will to stop, to torture him and build his pleasure slowly until it overflows them. But now he’s trapped, subdued to Lan Xichen’s reticence and his lovemaking. “I’m waiting for you,” Lan Xichen whispers, biting his earlobe. His thrusts gauged to perfection. “I want to feel you.”

How to deny him? Nie Mingjue abandons himself to his lust. “More, Lan Huan.” With his sweaty cheek against the bedding and his lover’s weight at his back, Nie Mingjue wrings the sheets and takes him. His body sways in a sinuous but relentless arch, never leaving him empty, his cock swelling inside him and snitching how close Lan Xichen is too. His length puts pressure where he needs to, not quite enough, and yet too much when he finds himself at the brink of orgasm. Lan Xichen sneaks a hand underneath their bodies and wraps around his cock.

One squeeze. That’s all it takes for Nie Mingjue to cry out his name and spill on the bed. His hole flutters around him softened enough that Lan Xichen never stops, riding out his orgasm. Nie Mingjue slacks on the mattress on his own mess, boneless and senseless. Despite the discomfort and weariness, Lan Xichen grasps the back of his thigh and keeps his leg wide open while he abuses him with wild abandon.

As if the past thirty years had never happened; as if they were still two disciples that just met and fell in love first sight. The hardships vanish into thin air, their worries, the injustices they overcame. Lan Xichen bites his shoulder, clenching his teeth around him while his hips slam into him at their own free will. His movements become frantic, erratic, unable to stop and grant Nie Mingjue the recess he needs, wanting to elongate this moment for both.

Nie Mingjue will be sore, stretched from his fingers, his tongue, and now the girth of his cock, but his lovemaking speaks of the desperation he has felt without him, of how much they missed the joy of being together at last. “Xichen,” Nie Mingjue murmurs like a plea. A plea for him to spill inside him, to sate his thirst on his body.

Lan Xichen comes with his name on his lips, spilling his lust while shoved deep in his heat. He keeps thrusting as if he could reach his soul itself, his hips molding the lush curve of his butt cheeks, his stomach gliding against Nie Mingjue’s back. He’s sure he has left bruises in the shape of his fingertips all over his thigh, and a smile curls his lips with not a trace of regret. “I had forgotten how much I love you on your knees, dage,” he whispers, and a throaty chuckle rumbles in his lover’s chest. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

In the softness of their embrace, Lan Xichen slips outside his abused body, and Nie Mingjue turns around in his arms not minding the stickiness trickling down his butt cheeks. Their lips press smile against smile, melting in a languid kiss of lovers weary and never sated of hunger that seems to never recede. “You never gave up on me.” Nie Mingjue’s arms wind around his waist, trapping him against his body. His lips trace the sharpness of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips, and a gasp leaves his lungs.

Lan Xichen shakes his head, teary, but he smiles. And it’s not polite, it’s not a mask to shield him from the world and hide his grief, it’s a genuine smile made of hope, of a future together, of a past left in the past, of a heart that swells in his presence and wrecks all walls around it. They drown into each other’s eyes, at a loss for words because nothing they could say matters. They want to relearn each other, healing old wounds of the soul and turning sad smiles into hopeful laughs.

“Stay right here, I’ll be back,” Lan Xichen says, squirming out of his hold. Nie Mingjue allows it, sinking into the pillows, his body sore and tired. Since he arrived, everything has been madness, recovering all his memories, reuniting with Lan Xichen, reconciling both lives into one consciousness. His eyes hide behind hooded lids while he refuses to fall asleep. How could he yearn for a good sleep when all his dreams have become a reality?

Lan Xichen comes back as promised with a wet towel in hand. He cleans his body with endless care and a handful of love. Water droplets trickle down his skin, giving him goosebumps, the gentle cloth wiping away their mess, the hands of his lover reminding him what they had and what they had gotten back. “You should rest,” he whispers, his knuckles stroking Nie Mingjue’s cheekbone.

“I don’t want to fall asleep,” he answers, a lazy smile curling the corner of his mouth upward.

“Why?”

“What if I do, and when I wake up my consciousness is gone?”

Lan Xichen smiles at him tenderly. “I’ll guard your sleep and you’ll wake up in my arms.” Nie Mingjue grasps his wrist, but his grip loosens when Lan Xichen kisses his forehead and murmurs comforting words. Back then, if he was lost in anger, Lan Xichen’s voice and his words of love would act as a balm to his soul. They still do, and he drifts into sleep faster than he would have wanted, with his imprint in his heart and the recent mark of his caresses all over his body.

“Lan Huan…”

After a few moments relishing in the sight of his exhausted lover, Lan Xichen presses a kiss on his forehead and reluctantly stands. He washes with the cold water of their bath, his lips curled upward in a genuine smile he never thought he’d smile again. Who would have thought love can mend a soul? Nie Mingjue was gone, doomed to roam this world as a fierce corpse, and thanks to his brother and his family, Nie Mingjue is back, and safe, and they are what they never were: free.

Eager to slide in bed with him and do as promised, Lan Xichen throws a flimsy robe over his shoulders. He won’t catch any sleep. It’s not nine yet, but even later tonight, he will admire his features until he wakes up, finding the resemblance with his past self, but now unabashed of his own wishful thinking. He should arrange something to eat for both, and the domestic thought lightens up his countenance.

Nie Mingjue’s chest heaves steady and peaceful, sleeping soundly already, but before Lan Xichen can lie by his side, a faint knocking startles him. He stares at the door of the hanshi, unblinking. His heart leaps when someone knocks again. An unforeseeable hunch churns his stomach, and with one last glance at Nie Mingjue, he stands and heads to the double doors of his chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ╭(♡･ㅂ･)و ̑̑  
> You wouldn't think I'd leave things just like that, huh? *evil laugh* ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> See y'all next week! ~ヾ ＾∇＾ Any guess of who's knocking at Lan Xichen's door?


	23. Chapter 23

Upon opening the door ajar, the sight of a disciple in the Gusu Lan Sect uniform knits his eyebrows together. He seems mortified to have interrupted his seclusion, and he casts his gaze down to his own feet when he realizes Lan Xichen wasn’t expecting company and wears a simple robe over his shoulders with no trace of the forehead ribbon around his head. “S-sect Leader Lan,” he stutters, cupping his hands together.

Lan Xichen never forbids news or important matters to reach him even in seclusion, but this time seems like the disciple isn’t at all convinced he’s doing the right thing. A warming smile stretches on his lips, his voice low and unaffected. “What is the matter?”

A flustered disciple glances up at him, his chest heaving, barely catching up his breath. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he has come here running. “Sect Leader Nie has just arrived and asked… d-demanded to see you.” Lan Xichen reveals nothing of his inner confusion, and his silence goads him to explain further. “I told him you were unavailable, but he insisted. He says it is crucial that Sect Leader Lan receives him as soon as possible.”

“I see.” Lan Xichen hums, wondering what would bring Nie Huaisang here in such a hurry. 

Perhaps his _cousin’s_ presence has something to do with the impromptu visit, and after all, he owes him an explanation. Glancing back at Nie Mingjue, he wonders if he should break the news to Nie Huaisang, keep the secret -which he has always been terrible at- or let dage reunite with his little brother at his own pace. That’s a tender reunion he doesn’t want to miss. Despite the worries lurking his heart, Lan Xichen discards waking Nie Mingjue up and solving first the issues tormenting Nie Huaisang.

It had been a long time since the sect leader came asking for help in similar ways, involving a dose of crying and a handful of _I don’t knows_ here and there. A defeated smile conquers his lips when he reminisces about those times in which he had wanted to scold Nie Huaisang for being so dependent. Little he knew back then of his inner turmoil.

“Do you know what happened?”

The disciple answers with a nervous shaking of his head. “He wouldn’t tell, but he can be very persistent. He said he’d find you himself if he had to.”

Lan Xichen sighs, trying to push unnecessary worries to the back of his mind. “Bring him to the tea house near the hanshi and offer him warm tea and something to eat.”

“Sect Leader Nie refused, he awaits at the main hall.”

After dismissing the disciple, Lan Xichen silently dresses up as fast as lightning. He wears a clean uniform from his wardrobe, long sleeves adorned in silvery clouds, a baby blue line riveting the hem of the garment. He arranges his hair in a half top-knot and glances back at the bed. Nie Mingjue sleeps soundly. With Shuoyue and Liebing by his sash, he gets closer, unfolding the forehead ribbon from Nie Mingjue’s wrist and tying it around his forehead. One last peck on his lips and Lan Xichen leaves the hanshi and his lover behind in favor of the chilling evening breeze.

The sun has almost set, a ginger aura enveloping the Cloud Recesses in an otherworldly mist. A heaviness sinks his heart, as if he could foresee the rapture that swathed them for the past hours has been nothing more than a far-fetched dream. The world never waited for him, it took everything from him ruthlessly and without further notice; this time around he’s ready for the worst and yet, his stomach churns in an unexpected queasiness while he hopes this is just a trivial matter that rattled Nie Huaisang’s nerves. He drowns in hesitation; if he should tell Nie Huaisang who Nie Shengzai is; if he should confirm his suspicions or keep this to himself for a while longer. Who is he trying to fool? One glance at his revealing eyes and Nie Huaisang will know exactly where Nie Shengzai rests: in his bed.

The main hall is deserted. Every cultivator and disciple is getting ready for dinner or attending their responsibilities at the end of the day. A continuous tapping noise guides him, and near a closed window and only illuminated by recently lit candles, he finds Nie Huaisang pacing the length of the space. The scene is so not like him, always so collected even in the worst situations. A long time ago, he would whimper, fall to his knees in a dramatic embrace, hug his thighs, and cry until his eyes were swollen and red, but never like this. Even the bell at his sash tinkles an angry noise at the tempo of his strides. It’s been a long time since he has seen this version of him.

Nie Huaisang clutches his folding fan with white-knuckle force, his face ashen, his breath hitching as he presses his lips in a worrisome, thin line. The sight awakens an irrational rage in him; nothing will rip him apart from Nie Mingjue. Ever again. “Huaisang,” Lan Xichen says, and Nie Huaisang swivels about, meeting his gaze. “What happened? Shengzai is here, he’s safe.”

He inches his way toward him, already hating the words that will leave his mouth. “I know, but that’s not why I have come, sadly.” Somehow, he’s glad of his cousin’s absence, oblivious to the dark news he brings. “Xichen-ge,” he says. “I know you own my cousin’s heart as you did my brother’s and I would congratulate you in other circumstances, but…” Nie Huaisang clutches the fan against his chest, his eyes teary. “He has escaped.”

The words come out in a barely inaudible whisper that course through Lan Xichen like a myriad of unmerciful needles through the heart. There’s no need to ask who or what has escaped. Nie Huaisang’s face is an open book, and he reads all his worst fears in it. His eyes are bleary, brimming with consternation and horrifying nightmares from the past. 

“How?”

Nie Huaisang sobs, gasping a much-needed intake of air. “An alarm set off in the area a few days ago,” he explains. “Wanyin went up there but saw nothing. It made no sense, and he insisted on sending another group to investigate further and patrol the place and,” he swallows a lump in his throat, “only one has come back alive but severely injured.” Lan Xichen’s face is a mask of calmness except for a deep crease in between his eyebrows.

“What did he see?” Lan Xichen asks, fearing the worst.

“He says the entrance of the cave was blown up, that something attacked them and he could do nothing but run while the _thing_ slaughtered everyone else.” Nie Huaisang lowers his voice trying to control the wavering of his words. “Something’s trapped at the peak, and we know all too well who we shackled there years ago.”

“Will the barrier work?” Nie Huaisang nods.

“So far, but I don’t know how long it’ll hold on, we need… we need to…” Whatever hunted Jiang Cheng’s men is still up there. The barrier they built and the maze array was solid enough to prevent it from leaving the mountain, and the cultivator that escaped confirmed that once he reached its limits while running for his life, nothing could follow him down the stone stairs. For how long? That’s what makes Nie Huaisang’s heart thump restlessly.

Lan Xichen ponders his words, his hand wrapping around Shuoyue’s hilt. His eyes never leave Nie Huaisang’s. He wouldn’t lie, he should have told him earlier, but it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. Who knows after twenty years what has escaped the perfect cage they built? It was supposed to last a century, layers of protection, the copper statues, the array, the barriers. Everything destroyed in a few days.

If Jin Guangyao -or what is left of him- flees the mountain, who knows where will he go? What or who will he haunt? Those who wronged him in life, those who put him there not once but twice; those who snatched his afterlife prize away. Once again, he will be the menace to put a shadow on the cultivation world and to all Lan Xichen holds dear in his life. With Nie Mingjue back, he cannot risk losing his second chance at love and at a life by his side. Not because of him; not again.

“I will leave at once,” Lan Xichen states without a trace of doubt. “Will you stay here?”

“I’m supposed to warn you and stay but…,” a sigh leaves his lungs, “I… Wanyin has gone to Yunmeng to gather more men, but how can I abandon him? I’ll come with you and we’ll meet him at the foot of the mountain.” Nie Huaisang’s voice trembles, fearful to climb those stairs again and face an enemy from the past, an enemy that took so much from him. But he would never let Jiang Cheng fight this for him even though he would gladly do it without him asking.

Lan Xichen curses at Nie Huaisang’s sudden surge of courage, as inconvenient as it is. “It’s him, Huaisang,” he says to change his mind. His chest rises and falls with his breathing, Nie Huaisang’s eyes squinting slightly. “He’s back. Shengzai remembered hours ago.” Clear droplets gather at the corners of his eyes. “He’s Nie Mingjue.” The folding fan falls to the floor with a thud.

“Dage?” A smile contrasts with the worry and the anguish. Lan Xichen dreads to do this to him now, but there’s something that urges him more than climbing that mountain and ending things once and for all. “It had to be him, I knew it…” Tears trickle down his cheeks, wetting his long, black lashes. Lan Xichen’s heart aches for him.

“Huaisang,” Lan Xichen calls, picking up the folding fan from the floor and handing it to him with endless tenderness. “Listen to me, if dage finds out, he’ll go up there without a second thought, you know this.” Nie Huaisang nods. “With his level of cultivation… I won’t let Jin Guangyao hurt him again, I need your help.” Wrinkling his eyes shut, Nie Huaisang graces him with another jerky nod, as if he could listen to his words but was still stuck on the news of his big brother back in this world. “Don’t let him leave the hanshi or the Cloud Recesses, and no matter what, don’t tell him what happened. Keep him here.”

“But you can’t do this alone.” Nie Huaisang whispers when he actually wants to shout.

“I can and I will.”

“But, Xichen-ge!”

“Protect him at all cost,” Lan Xichen says, his dark eyes drowning in pain, old wounds reopening, and finally Nie Huaisang collects himself and understands. “If he harms him again, I won’t be able to forgive myself,” a sad smile stretches his lips, “I never have.”

Trying to infuse some sense in him, Nie Huaisang grasps his cuff sleeve. “But if you get harmed, it’ll be just as painful for my brother.” His eyes offer a plea Lan Xichen won’t fall for.

“That’s a risk I’ll take for his welfare.” Twenty years and he sees in Nie Huaisang the same young cultivator that came to the Cloud Recesses for the first time hidden behind the broad frame of Nie Mingjue. “Whatever you do, don’t let dage come up that mountain. Promise me.”

Nie Huaisang shakes his head effusively. “I don’t know.” Wisdom has abandoned Lan Xichen in favor of his heart. As soon as the injured cultivator arrived at Qinghe, Jiang Cheng left for Yunmeng and he sent word to seek Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch. But even if he finds them, they’ll never arrive in time to assist Lan Xichen. “Let’s meet Wanyin there and fight together, going there on your own is madness.”

“Keep dage safe,” Lan Xichen smiles. “If I’m not back by the time Sect Leader Jiang arrives, find Wangji, he’ll know what to do. In the meantime, I assure you nothing will escape Bayingzhen’s peak.” Lan Xichen turns about, scooting out the main hall and into the welcoming spring night.

“Xichen-ge, please!” Nie Huaisang follows him, the worst hunch stuck in his heart. He wished they could all just be together and figure this out instead of rushing into the unknown.

Lan Xichen glances at him over his shoulder, determined to follow his fate. “My sworn brother took everything from me once, and he won’t do it again.” Shuoyue unsheathes with a blue glare, and before Nie Huaisang can retain him longer with his endless pleas, Lan Xichen disappears into the night sky flying on his sword.

He follows the white figure billowing into the soon-to-be-starry sky until it can no longer be seen. Tears of fear mingling with those of regained hope. His big brother back and safe in the world, and the love of his life heading to meet his fate despite the danger it holds. Nie Huaisang hopes Jiang Cheng hurries while he stands petrified in the increasing darkness, his cheeks wet, his heart galloping, his mind rambling what should he do.

Sneaking around to be unseen, Nie Huaisang avoids the scarce disciples he finds on his way to Lan Xichen’s chambers. They need to protect Nie Mingjue; his brother used to pick up fights he wasn’t ready for, and he was always blinded by Jin Guangyao. If his sworn brother was involved, rage would seep through his heart and hinder his judgment.

But as he stands in front of the wooden doors of the hanshi, Nie Huaisang realizes if something happens to Lan Xichen, his big brother will never forgive him nor will he forgive himself. He was always so keen on hiding the truth, he kept dark, unmentionable secrets for years, he hid his schemes even from the person he loved the most. He built a wall and a perfect façade to support his lies, and yet now, after twenty years of marriage with Jiang Cheng, after a lifetime being who he wanted to be all along, with the knowledge of Nie Mingjue roaming this world again… Nie Huaisang halts his tears, recovers his breath, and for once, promises to do what feels right in his heart even though he will regret deeply if someone loved gets hurt.

An idea that should be terrifying fills his heart with pride: if he hurries, he may even arrive before Jiang Cheng does. Holding that thought to infuse his brave heart, Nie Huaisang opens the double doors of the hanshi and finds his cousin lying face down and sound asleep, a thin sheet covering his lower body, except for a leg that almost hangs from the bed. “Dage,” he gasps.

 

An endless row of red lanterns contrasts with the darkness of the night sky and the brightness of a full moon. They illuminate the street ahead, and Nie Shengzai gasps in awe, mouth agape, holding tightly to Nie Huaisang’s hand. The cold of the night cannot reach them among the crowd, the scent of food stalls and the celebrations of the festival surrounds them as they walk hand in hand. He’s barely six, and he remembers this day as if it was yesterday.

He has always been close to his cousin and regarded him as a big brother. Nie Huaisang would come often to his home, take him to Yunmeng for the summer, tell him a thousand stories and tales, and bring the most exciting gifts. They head back to the residence to gather with the rest of the family, but as the curious kid he was, he loved admiring the streets decorated in lanterns of many sizes, and colors. Nie Huaisang always indulged and walked him up and down the street to his heart’s content.

He felt so safe by his side, so loved and cared for. Nie Huaisang told him he would be sect leader one day, that he would have to train and study to become worthy of the role. And so he did, believing if he tried hard enough, he’d make him proud, he’d make his mother proud, and he’d make Chifeng-zun proud too; wherever he was. “Cousin,” he calls, tugging at his hand. “Did Chifeng-zun take you to the festival too?” Nie Huaisang meets his big, innocent eyes and smiles.

Nie Mingjue knows he must be dreaming when Nie Huaisang’s words cannot reach his ears and the ruckus of the conversations overwhelms his senses. His dreams and his memories mesh together in a confusing twirl. Suddenly, he finds himself carrying a small Nie Huaisang of barely five in his arms, his legs dangling from his forearm, his little hands clutching the collars of his garments. The same festival in the city of Qinghe, but many years earlier, a lifetime ago. The two heirs of the Nie Clan mingling with the crowd while enjoying the celebrations.

Nie Huaisang insisted on being up in his arms after a few moments strolling the streets, and Nie Mingjue never minded. He allowed him to be the kid he wanted to be, enjoying his childhood while he could. Soon, he would have to train like him -or so he thought- and his days would be filled with the saber, martial arts, and the same responsibilities that overwhelmed him. After their father’s death, he could never impose those on Nie Huaisang even though he tried. His little brother’s company made him forget all his worries. When his mother died, Nie Mingjue’s grief for her mixed with the thought that he would never have a sibling, but his father remarried and Nie Huaisang made his dreams come true.

The first time he saw him, he was so tiny that he was even scared to get closer, but his stepmother tucked him in his arms and told him it would be his duty to protect him and guide him as his big brother. Nie Mingjue was bursting with pride, fitting into the role a bit too eagerly.

“Dage!” Nie Huaisang called, stretching his arm and pointing at a stall selling sky lanterns. “They’re so pretty!” But Nie Mingjue couldn’t look at the display of beautiful paper lanterns painted in many different motifs and riddles. He could only see the genuine smile of his little brother, the excitement brimming in his eyes when he spotted the most beautiful things that would always go unnoticed by him. He hoped one day he’d pay the same attention to his training. Later on, he would understand Nie Huaisang’s fate wasn’t bound to cultivation as his own did.

“Do you want to buy one for later?” Nie Mingjue asked.

“Two,” Nie Huaisang lifted two fingers in front of his face. “One for me and one for dage.” Single-handedly, Nie Mingjue rummaged for a few coins in a pocket on his sash, unable to help the need to spoil him. “Can we go watch the dragon dance too?” The excitement in his voice was like a song to his ears.

“Will you get scared?”

“Not with you!” Nie Huaisang winds his arms around his neck and hides his feigned courage there.

All those dreams that haunted him at night of a life he couldn’t recognize. All those feelings of longing, of familiarity when he was with his cousin. Everything was linked to his past life and only now he can remember and put a face to the seemingly strange dreams that woke him up with a heartache sometimes or a warmth in his heart others.

“Dage!” His voice, calling him. “Dage, wake up.” Face buried in the feathery pillow, Nie Mingjue grunts, half-asleep, half-awake, wondering why Lan Xichen’s voice sounds so different. “Dage!” A timely -and kind of harsh- tap on his shoulder springs his eyes open, and he turns around, finding Nie Huaisang’s flustered complexion. His eyes are swollen as if he had been crying, his hands shaky as he clutches the closed folding fan against his chest, but his lips part in a wavering smile. “D-dage?” he stutters.

In an instant, a pair of strong arms wrap around him in a bear hug that brings tears to his eyes and steals the air out of his lungs. “Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue mumbles, tightening his embrace, hugging his brother. He’s not so little anymore.

“I knew it had to be you,” Nie Huaisang sobs. “I knew.” His words form in a thin voice that dies in a muttered cry. How he has wished all these years to feel his arms around him; to feel one of those hugs that speak of how much Nie Mingjue cared for him, that vanished any fear, any nightmare, any worry. When he was young enough to seek his warmth and protection at night, when he admired him and knew he could never be like him. Those brief years in which he could be a kid and Nie Mingjue a teenager; before all the burdens that fell over his shoulders, before the fights, the disappointments, the unfulfilled expectations… Everything’s gone and only their brotherly love remains. “Dage, forgive me.” Tears trickle down his cheeks, his chest hitching up nervously as he sobs and mumbles nonsense.

About how it was all his fault, about how he should have been a better brother. He voices out the many things he had wanted to tell him since he died. The words pour out of him in an endless blue streak mixed with tears and guilt. Nie Huaisang can’t stop now that he’s back. He should have been smarter, listened to his big brother, ignored the silver-tongued Jin Guangyao. His heart melts in an embrace that seems nigh unbearable but brings rapture to his soul.

“I’m so sorry, dage…”

Nie Mingjue shushes him, listening to every single word with bleary eyes and a shrinking heart. Nothing matters now, the past is in the past, he left it behind and he could ask for nothing more than his little brother hugging him as if he were five again. “No need to be sorry,” he whispers, and Nie Huaisang answers with a sob. “I’m proud of you,” he squeezes him before he releases the trembling body in his arms and meets his hazel eyes. “You were such a big brother to me in this life.” Nie Huaisang blushes, shaking his head to avert Nie Mingjue’s grin.

With the back of his hand, he wipes his tears away from his face. A grown-up man that still has the same expression of his little brother and the same spark behind his eyes; with a handful of bad experiences that somehow mar the softness of his features. “Why are you here?” he asks, his eyebrows knitting. “Where’s Xichen?”

“Dage, I need to tell you something.” Nie Huaisang stares at his lap and his fidgeting hands for a moment. “I’m about to betray a friend, but,” he meets his eyes, “you wouldn’t forgive me if I kept this from you.” Before Nie Mingjue can ask again about Lan Xichen’s whereabouts, Nie Huaisang continues. “You remember I told you about Bayingzhen mountain.” Nie Mingjue nods, the furrow deepening. “When we freed you, Lan Xichen struck Baxia through Jin Guangyao’s heart, and we sealed the coffin and the cave again.”

“Where’s Xichen now?” Nie Mingjue pieces what happened with the memories of his youth, and the memories of his afterlife together with what Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang have enlightened about that fateful night.

“We thought it would be enough to suppress his fierce corpse,” Nie Huaisang says, his voice barely a trembling whisper. “But as far as we know, he has escaped.” The rage coiling behind his brother’s eyes sends a frisson through his spine, his lower lip quivering.

“Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue warns, taking his hand. “Where’s Xichen?”

“Zewu-jun is in danger,” he gasps. “He asked me to protect you but he has gone there on his own and…” Nie Mingjue groans, getting out of bed and scooting toward the folding screen to find his garments. “But you can’t go!” Nie Huaisang begs. “What if something happens to you and we lose you again?” His heart thumps in his chest so hard he feels it in his temples.

Nie Mingjue ignores his pleas, dressing up as fast as he can with the sole purpose of finding that mountain, and ending his sworn brother before he hurts Lan Xichen. His saber hangs from his right hip, Dreamcatcher on his left. The moment he strokes the tail-like hilt a surge of comforting power reassures his heart. This is what he has to do, no matter the consequences.

“Dage!” Nie Huaisang calls, rushing toward him and tugging at his sleeve. “You can’t go.”

“Huaisang, what if I lose him when I just got him back?” Nie Mingjue turns about and finds teary eyes pleading him to stay. Nie Huaisang crashes against his chest, biting back a sob. “I need to find him, protect him with everything I got. What if I lose you too? Jin Guangyao won’t rest until we all pay, he won’t let bygones be bygones and this time I won’t fail.”

Nie Huaisang lifts his face and finds his brother behind Nie Shengzai’s eyes. He needed no words to understand his motives, they are the same that goaded him to speak up and involve him in this despite Lan Xichen’s wishes. These two fools would die alone protecting the other and he won’t allow it. “Wanyin went to Lotus Pier for reinforcement.”

“Good,” Nie Mingjue whispers, the corner of his mouth pulling upward. “Tell me the fastest way to get there. You stay here.”

“No.” Nie Huaisang shakes his head. “I’ll go with you, I could be useful.”

Nie Mingjue’s smile widens. “Then Huaisang, where is your saber?”

His brother flicks his folding fan open, hiding behind and glaring at him from over the brim of the hand-painted leaf. “I need no saber,” he retorts, “and I have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! (灬º 艸º灬)  
> Ah! The Nie brothers finally reunited... I hope you know what you're doing, Huaisang!!
> 
> Before it's all over and we go on one final rollercoaster together, I want to thank you guys so much for all your words of love, every kudo, and every comment. They made my editing days less tedious and motivated me to finish this story when I was feeling down about my writing. You are all so sweet and I'm so happy I could share this with you ❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )
> 
> PS: Although we're reaching the ending of the story, the last two chapters are around 8k each╭( ･ㅂ･)و ))) I felt no need to interrupt the pacing of the story with unnecessary cliffhangers, but they are intense!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter ahead (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و

Bayingzhen mountain looks gloomier than usual in a night sky pierced by tireless clouds that cover the moon and offer a bizarre darkness. Lan Xichen lands at the feet of the steep stairs, Shuoyue sheathing back with a whoosh. The beautiful threshold of iris has withered; the prim, white flowers are rusty and corroded, looking nothing like what they were, their beauty gone. Death and resentfulness seem to be expanding down the slope of the hillside. He remembers Nie Huaisang telling him nothing grows at the peak because of the surrounding energy of the coffin. This is not a good sign if it has extended so far down.

Lan Xichen had hoped to never climb these steps again, but his legs move on his own, carried by his determination and unyielding to a night-evoking fear. At least the barrier holds up and didn’t allow him to fly to the peak directly, but it’s thinner, weakened by a vortex of resentfulness that seems to originate at the top. Albeit not the dangers awaiting nor the vertiginous ascent deters his will.

The climb that twenty years ago had no end, closes in haphazardly fast. The line in between the earth and the heavens looms over him awkwardly. There’s no trace of the cottony clouds in a circular mist, instead, there’s a discernible swirl of resentfulness around the mountain that mingles with the clouds. It churns his stomach, but Lan Xichen ignores the pressure constricting his chest and climbs one step at a time, following the tempo of his thumping heart.

The barrier leaves a heady tingling on his skin when he crosses it and an ashy taste in his mouth. When he looks back, he cannot see the steep climb, just a thick fog that seals the peak. It’s the last thread of hope containing the resentfulness of this place. It fills his lungs and seeps through every pore of his skin. Even if he succeeds, it’ll take many weeks to purge this place. This weakened shield was the only thing keeping Jin Guangyao trapped at the top, but a bad hunch prickles his skin; he feels trapped inside here too. Lan Xichen knows he just needs to buy time for Jiang Cheng, perhaps enough for Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian to arrive. Together, they will eliminate any trace of him from this world once and for all. While he’s standing, Jin Guangyao won’t leave the peak even if the barrier unexpectedly falls.

No more distant caves, no more layers of protection, no coffin, statues or nightmares to wake him up at night. Lan Xichen is determined to get rid of the menace that loomed over his heart ever since he knew the truth, ever since he had to wake up every day knowing he took part in Nie Mingjue’s death, that he was fooled and lied to for years with the pretense of foul love. His fists clenched tightly, his jaw straining, his heart aching for an old wound that festers.

Anger never ruled his heart, and yet his world has turned upside down once again, and his heart knows no other trade. One moment he was at the peak of heaven, believing happiness would never fade and now he climbs the last step of a stair to doom, to fate, to his own death if needed. Once, he came up here to bury the love of his life for the second time, then again to free his soul and grant him rest, and now to fight one last time his sworn brother. Because if Lan Xichen realizes something now is that it will be the last.

When will he leave this behind? When will Jin Guangyao stop tormenting them? For someone who claimed to never hurt him on purpose, to care for him and love him like a brother, he snatched from him the only love he never knew. Jin Guangyao killed Nie Mingjue, he tortured him after death and wouldn’t let go even after his own heart stopped beating. His sworn brother never had a right to his claims. Whatever guilt or remorse he could have felt when he stabbed him through the heart at the cry of Nie Huaisang, is now gone forever. He took from him his first love, his last love, the love that lasts a lifetime only to meet again in the next. And he cannot afford to lose him again.

The esplanade is deserted except for the many corpses scattered around. The place exudes an unearthly quietness. Lan Xichen avoids a pool of fresh blood, purple uniforms soaked in a thick substance are now a weird reddish color. The cave is blown open, mountain rubble widespread all over the deserted terrain and the entrance. His foot bumps into a golden horn, and his eyebrows knit in a deep furrow. As if sliced by a blade in a perfect, clean cut. Both copper statues maimed forever, destroyed, their jade eyes pierced through and through. What kind of fiend can destroy a pair of spiritual statues such as these? Only one of them remains tall and proud at one side of the entrance: beheaded.

Lan Xichen curses his surge of boldness coming here alone at the display of destruction in front of his eyes. It makes him wary, especially because nothing moves. There’s not a single breeze battering the peak, the clouds cover the moon and the stars, and a black mist engulfs the sight of Qinghe. It is as though he was in another world, far from home and from everything he ever loved.

What a cruel fate would be to die alone in this cursed mountain; the fate of the Yunmeng cultivators who perished here. Lan Xichen kneels near a corpse. Something sucked the life out of him, his skin thin, ashen, wrinkled like a hundred years old cadaver. His eyes are still open, a terrified expression frozen forever in his features. They were caught off guard, he guesses. And none of them was a match to Jin Guangyao, the sole resentfulness suspended in the atmosphere would be enough to confuse and weaken average cultivators. It’ll take a toll on him the longer he remains within its range.

Whatever he has turned into, whatever inhabits this place, grows stronger by the hour. It has fed on human flesh and consumed human souls. Lan Xichen stands, turning on his heels when a presence prickles the little hairs at his nape. The only noises are from his steady breathing puffing out in the night and the thumping of his heart. He’s not even cold as if the rules of the weather couldn’t reach this place.

He has to trust his prowess as a cultivator and as a sect leader. Many years in secluded meditation, cultivating, honing his skills and practicing until his hands bled and his muscles ached. Lan Xichen feels a pair of eyes following his every move while he saunters the nothingness of the peak. He’s the perfect lure, the perfect bait to draw him out of the shadows and at his sword’s reach.

A shadow moves, and he glimpses at it from the corner of his eye at the same time his ears register a scraping noise hard to identify. Lan Xichen turns slowly, knowing the creature moves faster than what his eyes see. A white glare, a muttered spark behind the fog, the noise of metal hitting the stone. Thicker clouds prevent the moonlight from seeping through to offer its pearly hue. Darkness looms over him as the creature prowling his domains, enclosing the circle.

There’s nowhere to hide, nowhere to seek cover except for an unwelcoming cave. Lan Xichen awaits, sharpening his senses and pushing his worries away. The thought of Nie Mingjue sleeping soundly in his bed, safe from this and the danger that haunts him, curls his lips slightly upward. A ghostly mist creeps up his knees, and a pair of red eyes meet his gaze before a grating laugh echoes at his back.

He’s way faster than he expected. Lan Xichen turns about and the same high-pitched laugh fills his ears and churns his stomach. The shrill mockery is easily recognizable; it has haunted his nightmares for so many years that has ingrained in his mind. The pair of eyes and the barely discernible figure taking form in front him undoubtedly belong to his sworn brother. “Jin Guangyao,” he murmurs.

“I knew you’d come.” The sound of his voice surprises him. Clear as day, honeyed as it used to be while he was alive but with the tinge of death on the tip of his tongue and a harshness attached to it. “I hoped you didn’t come alone…” Lan Xichen squints his eyes, trying to figure out the figure blurred by the mist. “I miss dage.” At the mention of Nie Mingjue in such a familiar tune, Lan Xichen grits his teeth. “And I still have a debt to set with that lying snake of Huaisang.”

The shadow lurks in the safety of the mist as if Jin Guangyao wanted to stay in the dark a bit longer, but also wanted to reveal himself to his sworn brother with urgency. “I should have killed him like I killed his brother.” The darkened sky plays in his favor, concealing him behind a swirl of resentment

Madness followed Jin Guangyao to the afterlife, guided by stubbornness and desires of vengeance. He died tragically, betrayed in his eyes, his soul tainted by resentful energy and hate. He still has a purpose and no desire to hide it anymore. Lan Xichen swallows a lump in his throat. One thing was to kill a dormant monster even if it had the shape of his sworn brother, another is to listen to his voice, to his threats, to see what he has become. Lan Xichen isn’t sure he’s ready to reason with a mad consciousness and feel again the pain of loss.

“Will you ever put an end to your deeds?” Lan Xichen says in an unwavering voice. “Haven’t you done enough already to harm those who loved you in life?”

“Loved me?” Jin Guangyao seethes. “You never loved me. Dage never loved me. Everyone who looked down on me got what they deserved. Except you… I never wanted to hurt you and yet you… you thrust your sword through my heart without batting an eye!” The shriek echoes in the deserted esplanade and sends a frisson through his spine.

Lan Xichen’s breath seizes in his chest when the clouds move and the moon bathes them again with the promised pearly light the night relies on. Twenty feet in front him, a hunched figure tears through the mist and comes out of the swirl of resentful energy. He gets a glimpse of Jin Guangyao, his sworn brother, the man that destroyed the cultivation world with his actions, that murdered his own family, that knew no other loyalty than his own. The moon casts its light on him as if a dark veil draped up his body and its silver shine offered a horrifying nightmare for his eyes. Like a curtain that reveals what has consumed Jin Guangyao irremediably in twenty years of solitude trapped in a coffin. Lan Xichen fixes his gaze on his fierce corpse, the outside finally matching the inside, rotten and dark. What a fate; to do so much harm in life, to die by the hands of his most feared enemy, then the hands of his brother, then again persist on chasing and clutching to any kind of life to fulfill his desires of vengeance. Lan Xichen pities him like he hasn’t since the night at the Guanyin Temple.

As he moves closer, he finally understands the noise of metal scraping over the stone. An arm as black as a void holds a sword by the hilt, dragging its long, curved blade against the ground. If Lan Xichen didn’t know any better, he would believe it’s Baxia. “It can’t be,” he whispers, his eyebrows tying together. Shuoyue unsheathes an inch, its blue glint comforting his soul after the unsettling view. His weapon is as ready as he’ll ever be.

Jin Guangyao seems unaffected by the hole in his chest. Baxia pierced through him by the strength of Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse in the same place Shuoyue had stabbed him before. Now there’s a hole dripping a black substance right in the middle of the Sparks Amidst snow uniform. The sole remnant of the Lanling Jin Sect; the motif destroyed, barely recognizable. As its former leader. He pins him in place with eyes gleaming in red and a sly smile that holds back his unanswered threats. In the middle of his forehead, a smeared red dot persists even after so many years.

“Have you missed me, second brother?” He takes a step forward, dragging the heavy saber.

The skin at his neck twists and wrinkles awkwardly, inky hair draping in scarce, tattered strands, contrasting with the greyish complexion of his skin. Lan Xichen suspects resentful energy is now his source of sustain and power. It’s a miracle he preserves his consciousness and his memories instead of turning into a fierce corpse out of control. Judging by the amount of resentfulness fogging the atmosphere, he’s in his element, the terrain plays in his advantage, and even with a group of cultivators having his back, Lan Xichen would seriously doubt the outcome of the fight.

The pleasant smile on Jin Guangyao’s lips gets to his nerves, and so does the pregnant silence that grows uncomfortable between them. Lan Xichen lifts two fingers in front of his lips and Shuoyue unsheathes with a flourish. Jin Guangyao halts, his smile widening. Lan Xichen never thought his dreams could be so accurate. Every time his mind graced him with a nightmare of his sworn brother beheading Nie Mingjue with an almost invisible chord this was the face he’d see, the face he had to stare to bear the fear and not drown in guilt and remorse watching Nie Mingjue’s lifeless eyes.

“What have you become?” Lan Xichen says, his eyes piercing right through what’s left of him. “Or is this what you’ve been all along?” Jin Guangyao lets out a guttural chuckle. “Why do you preserve your consciousness? How?” Shuoyue hovers in the air, firm and ready to deflect a menace or spare a direct attack. He shouldn’t rush into the fight, but he never listened to reason under Jin Guangyao’s honeyed words’ influence.

“Time…” Jin Guanyao murmurs, swaying his arm while the tip of his sword traces a half circle on the ground. He shifts the grip on the hilt and makes sure Lan Xichen sees it. “… and a little help.”

“Baxia…” At the sight of Nie Mingjue’s blade, a surge of rage courses through Lan Xichen. “What have you done?”

“Why would you leave them keeping me company otherwise?” Jin Guangyao struggles to lift Baxia; the saber too heavy and mighty for his shy height.

The saber is not what it used to. The unmarred blade he remembers is now covered in rust, dented, and corroded. What horrors did they share inside that coffin to hurt each other so much? Seems like Baxia lost the fight their master had long ago. Subdued by Jin Guangyao, used, and disrespected against their own will. Lan Xichen curses the day they abandoned Baxia here believing it would be enough to suppress him. This is the last time he underestimates his sworn brother.

“The saber missed their master,” Jin Guangyao retorts. “I gave them a new one.” He hunches over and whispers his breathless words against the ruined blade. “We spent many years together, didn’t we? You’re so empty… whatever you were, belongs to me now.”

“You have no right to wield his saber,” he snarls at him, anger seeping through his voice like an irrepressible stream. Jin Guangyao laughs wryly at Lan Xichen, his eyes sparkling in red.

“Does he want it back?” Lan Xichen frowns. “Ah, second brother… you saved me so many times from dage’s rage.” Jin Guangyao stares at Baxia in a daze, his words aim to hurt more than the attacks he’s holding back. “Did you know Baxia can cut almost through everything?” A shrilling laugh shrinks Lan Xichen’s heart, demanding blood at every beat. “Many layers, yes, wood, iron, stone… so mighty. I wonder how will it tear your flesh apart.”

“You…” Lan Xichen hisses and lifts two fingers in front of his mouth, sending Shuoyue in a direct attack. The sharp sword travels swiftly through the air in the direction of Jin Guangyao. An astonishing blue light follows behind, but when it’s about to hit its target, Jin Guangyao vanishes from his sight, appearing at his right. Lan Xichen taps his foot on the ground and increases the distance between them, Shuoyue returning to his side. If not for the noise that preceded his movements, Lan Xichen would have been caught off guard. Jin Guangyao’s fierce corpse moves at an abnormal speed.

“There’s a funny thing about resentful energy,” Jin Guangyao says, his voice raspy and laborious but refraining to answer Lan Xichen’s attack. “You can drown on it and it’ll trap you for eternity  as it did to dage.” Shuoyue points at him menacingly, Lan Xichen’s dark eyes reflecting the kind-hearted moon that offers him the consolation of its light in a night full of terrors. “Or you can prevail and become stronger, that we learned from the Yiling Patriarch.”

A void of resentful energy forms in his palm, a guqin chord entangled in his fingers, the flesh ripped and cut from his phalanges. Lan Xichen squints his eyes without uttering a word, trying not to take them to heart when they will only distract him from their fight. Jin Guangyao may be stronger, but he cannot heal his wounds nor regenerate his flesh.

“If you had seen dage turn into a fierce corpse when I…”

“You were always good at making the most of any situation.” Lan Xichen interrupts; his voice betrays him, wavering slightly. Seems like Jin Guangyao is still his old, poisonous self that knew exactly when and how to pour salt on open wounds. Listening now to the ordeals Nie Mingjue went through after his death breaks his heart.

“Still hurts?” Jin Guangyao jeers.

“I won’t let you spill your venom in my ears,” Lan Xichen retorts, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“I never lied to you,” Jin Guangyao hisses. “I merely protected you from the truth.” Both his hands wrap around Baxia’s hilt menacingly. “My actions couldn’t be avoided, everything I did had to be done, or else…”

“I am over your madness.”

“Perhaps in death, you’ll be more reasonable.” A sly smile bares two rows of yellowish teeth while a fearsome laugh rumbles in his throat. “Can you imagine, second brother? All three of us reunited again.”

Merciless and faster than a lightning bolt, Jin Guangyao dashes forward, dragging the saber with both hands. The same scraping noise fills the night while the mist clouds out of his way. Lan Xichen dodges his attack, Shuoyue slashing his side and wounding him. The brief exchange seems not to affect any of them, except a new trail of black blood trickles down Jin Guangyao’s uniform. Lan Xichen hums and Shuoyue obediently comes back to his hand. However, the hem of his robes suffered the blade’s sharpness; a piece tore apart, disturbing its billowing elegance.

“You cannot win,” Lan Xichen says, the silver gleam of the sword reflects the hue of the moonlight, the stance on his feet shifting imperceptibly. He doubts he has seen Jin Guangyao’s true strength in that futile attack that never meant to harm him.

“I won’t leave this world unless my two sworn brothers come with me,” Jin Guangyao retorts. “I had dage… but then you took him from me!” His benighted brother lunges forward, the tip of Baxia scratching the barren stone until Jin Guangyao sends a certain slash in his direction.

Wielding his sword, Lan Xichen parries the attack with a grunt. “Dage is free of you, I made sure of that.” His fighting style is so unfamiliar that Lan Xichen refrains from charging back. The ruthlessness of his attack matches none of the playful smirks on Jin Guangyao’s lips while they exchange blows.

Their swords clash, Baxia lifeless, a mere blade unpolished but durable. There’s nothing left of the feared and sturdy spiritual weapon nor the spirit inside. Every exchange of swords comes accompanied by poisoned words that come out of lips stretched in a smirk. “Could it be that you already know he’s back in this world?” Jin Guangyao says right before swiveling forward.

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen. He has the breath knocked out of him at his words and yet he deflects another slice of Baxia. With both hands, Jin Guangyao manages to sway the blade in his direction in a dreadful swing, his attacks suffused with hate and vengeful intentions. Baxia makes a broken clanking noise when clashing against Shuoyue. Their gazes meet over the edge of the blades, the sight of his sworn brother shrinking his heart, his eyes fixed on his undead countenance and crimson blood-shot eyes. “Of course you’d be so selfish as to want him just for yourself,” he snarls.

Shuoyue glares in blue and pushes Jin Guangyao back a few feet with a blast of spiritual energy. Lan Xichen succumbs to a ragged breath. The physical attacks and the hurtful blows in the shape of spiteful words unsettle his emotions. He was always biased since Jin Guangyao was his sworn brother; he thought his humble origins and his always pleasing personality were genuine, not a façade to hide his own desires of grandeur. “I won’t let you harm him again.” Jin Guangyao grins a horrifying smile, and Lan Xichen has a hunch he gave out Nie Mingjue by saying that.

“There was nothing you could have done back then,” Jin Guangyao mutters. “And there is nothing you can do now, dear brother.”

The saber slices through fog and resentment, Jin Guangyao’s fierce corpse closing in like a looming storm in rough weather. Lan Xichen leaps and twirls in the air to avoid the hit. Jin Guangyao fights dragging the sword on the terrain, its noise giving away where he comes from, but his speed is a challenge even to Lan Xichen. He makes yet another cut on him that elicits no pain and no response. He didn’t even bother to dodge his blade, and Lan Xichen’s eyebrows knit together.

“I’ll find him!”

Wounding Jin Guangyao seems to have no effect on him at all. He could cut him a hundred times and he would still be on his feet. He needs a critical hit, and even then, he cannot underestimate his endurance. Lan Xichen has not the stamina of an undead fiend, and he understands Jin Guangyao’s carelessness a second too late. He whirls in the air, Baxia cutting through nothingness, propelled by the momentum. It encounters Lan Xichen’s upper leg midair. He hisses before he retreats, landing on a defensive position. “You’re wrong.” Lan Xichen endures the sting as if it was nothing. “He’s out of your reach and you will perish in here even if I do so too.”

Resentful energy oozes out of Jin Guangyao while he licks his lips, eyeing the delicate trail of blood staining the pristine white uniform in red. “Is that so?” His words aim to unbalance his heart but his attacks aim to make him bleed. “As long as I exist, we will be sworn brothers.”

“Not anymore.” Lan Xichen gets ready for another attack. “You destroyed that bond with your treachery.”

“I’ll finish you, and then I’ll find him so he can join us…” The provocation sends Lan Xichen and his inner turmoil in an undeflectable attack that Jin Guangyao barely dodges. Baxia swings way too close to his abdomen, but he lands a deep cut in his arm. Not that it hinders his strength in the least, his undead limb clutches at Baxia with inhuman force. “You know what I want? All three of us together for eternity.” Blocking Lan Xichen’s quick and certain lunges, he continues the lashing of his sharp tongue. “We could be as we were, the venerated triad reunited.”

“We are not sworn brothers,” Lan Xichen curses under his breath, a veil of perspiration coating his forehead, a mouthful of blood constricting his throat.

“We pledged an oath.” A shrilling laugh resounds closer when another gash splits open on his side. Lan Xichen grunts, sparing an offensive attack but finding Baxia’s hard blade. “Strengthen our relationship,” Jin Guangyao says, “share in the fortune and misfortune, be of the same mind…”

His undead voice mingles with the clanking of their weapons, disturbing the unearthly peace of the peak. Lan Xichen moves as gracefully as a deity, avoiding the disgraced blade of Nie Mingjue and harming Jin Guangyao in an endless trade of thrusts. He struggles to land a hit that will leave his opponent impaired while memories of the day of their oath come back to startle him.

Lan Xichen naively thought Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao’s grudges would vanish in favor of their bond as sworn brothers. He wanted to be with the man he loved and the one he considered his close friend. They should have never associated themselves with a disloyal two-faced maniac. The Venerated Triad prevailed after the war, helped the cultivation world escape the claws of the Qishan Wen Sect, and set an example of what a sect should be. Nothing further than the truth. They are a joke now, a mockery, a pit of lies and dishonor thanks to Jin Guangyao.

“Consuming your soul will be an out of the body experience,” Jin Guangyao threats. “And don’t worry, I’ll find dage too and end his miserable life as I ended the previous one.” Lan Xichen dashes forward, his heart aching by those merciless words that seep through his soul and remind him of the pain of thirty years without him. It gives him strength at the same time it hinders his attacks in favor of his emotions tumbling over. “This time I will dismember him alive, let him see what you’ve become.” His laugh echoes in the solitary peak, Baxia, and Shuoyue clashing and painting the sky with glares in blue and white. But they remain trapped in a dome of resentment.

Jin Guangyao struggles to parry his attacks, twirling and leaping around to avoid Shuoyue’s rage and Lan Xichen’s justice. He gives him no rest, no truce, he slices and wounds him, and learns his movements to predict his seemingly unpredictable madness while dueling. “I won’t listen to your lies anymore!” His ragged breath betrays him, and he allows himself a brief moment of rest, staring at Jin Guangyao while they prowl in a circle. Keeping their distance, Lan Xichen catching up his breath, Jin Guanyao ignoring his black, festering wounds, an ever-present smirk stretching his lips and granting his face with yet another terrifying trait.

“You seemed very fond of my lies,” he retorts. “Did you really believe I was playing to appease his soul and prevent a qi deviation?” His throaty chuckle hurts more than the wounds in his body. “You knew…”

“I would have stopped you!” Lan Xichen raises his voice to the heavens.

“But you didn’t. You didn’t want to believe him, you knew he was wrong to wish me ill.”

“No!”

Jin Guangyao charges against him, taking advantage of Lan Xichen’s inner turmoil. Baxia has always been a blade attached to death and misfortune, and he wonders how many times will he have to fight back Nie Mingjue’s saber. Jin Guangyao could never lift the weapon with one hand, he can only disrespect the blade in this manner, dragging it over the ground and lifting it last second to lunge against Lan Xichen. Shuoyue deflects most of his attacks even though Lan Xichen seems lost in his pain, eyes bleary with unshed tears. “I loved you as my brother, all I wished… all I wanted was to honor our oath,” he mutters behind gritted teeth.

Lan Xichen slides back on the gravel, Jin Guangyao swinging Baxia with both hands and launching a head-on attack. Whipping his head back and trying to find his balance, Lan Xichen grunts. The saber cuts the air upwards, the tip of the dented blade grazing his garments and almost cutting through the skin at his neck. Lan Xichen pants, wielding Shuoyue while expecting another blow.

“Then why couldn’t you love me as you loved _him_?” Jin Guangyao snarls. “Why couldn’t he look at me how he looked at you?” Both swords collide with a clank, a swirl of resent surrounding Baxia and reinforcing his attacks.

Lan Xichen’s eyes widen at those mad words that listen to no reason. “I protected you! I loved you as my brother!” He keeps giving up terrain in favor of Jin Guangyao’s advances. Blocking Baxia’s thrusts one after the other with no chance to counter-attack. This is what he feared, Jin Guangyao feeding off the resentment enveloping the peak while it’s the same energy that hinders his attacks and blocks his meridians. “A-Yao!”

“It wasn’t enough!” Even though he has glimpsed a fraction of his sworn brother behind his eyes upon listening to his name, the remnants of his soul are quickly replaced by a red hue. Then a piercing pain pounds on his leg, and he misses a step, struggling to stay upright. Along with the other cut that still bleeds profusely, this one hampers his movements. “Dage had everything.” Jin Guangyao swings the blade on the same weakened leg but finds the study Shuoyue obstructing his attack. “He had you. Still does.”

Lan Xichen realizes he cannot stop his relentless attacks forever; that sooner than later the blood loss will get to him. His spiritual energy will eventually fail to fuel his body and he’d be at the mercy of a merciless monster. How long can he hold on? Weakened by the deep cut on his leg, he kneels on the ground with a grunt, Shuoyue the only thing preventing Baxia to slay right through him. Perhaps this is where he leaves this world, by the hands of an enemy he never wanted to fight, of his sworn brother.

His hand presses against the sturdy rock to support himself, yielding not a single inch to the insurmountable amount of strength with which Jin Guangyao pushes him down. Once he crossed the barrier, he noted how it sealed behind him. It may have been trapping Jin Guangyao here in the beginning, but once he consumed enough souls to recover from his hibernation, he used it in his advantage. This has been a trap all along, to lure him here, them…

Lan Xichen smiles wryly. Jin Guangyao always knew where and when to fight his battles to make sure he came victorious. “We have to go through life and death together,” Jin Guangyao mutters, the oath entangled to his soul like a venom. “Do you remember, second brother?”

“Should there be treachery,” Lan Xichen mumbles, his teeth clenched tightly together while he parries Baxia single-handedly, “so known by many, may his corpse be dismembered by five horses.”

A deadly laugh comes out of Jin Guangyao’s black lips. “Dage already went through the consequences of his treachery once…”

Lan Xichen closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to push those hurtful words to the back of his mind. He never had the dominance up here, and yet he followed his instincts and came to face Jin Guangyao. He may be weakened by the resentfulness of the place, his heart may shrink in fear for Nie Mingjue more than his own life, but he’s also a force to be reckoned with. When he opens them, his eyes glare in an azure blue shinier than the moonlight, freeing himself of Baxia’s menace. A perfect swing, infused with spiritual energy, rounds the air in a flourish that would be considered ravishingly beautiful in any other circumstances. It would never miss its mark, and his sharp blade finds an already deformed neck, cutting halfway through it. A furrow settles in between his eyebrows, his arm encountering a resistance that shouldn’t be there.

Jin Guangyao’s free hand holds his blade sturdily, marring it with a black substance that pools on the ground in thick, dark droplets. In his hand threads the unbreakable chord of a guqin, trapping his blade, hindering his critical hit. With his head still attached to his body, the menace hasn’t been suppressed.

He struggles to lift Baxia with one hand, the saber trembling until the tip dips in Lan Xichen’s chest. Red blooms and soaks a crescent stain in the middle of his layered uniform. In deadly harmony, the sky tinges itself in a similar hue, the moon presiding a crimson night that seems to know nothing but hatred. Lan Xichen coughs a mouthful of blood. He thought he had time to end him, time for one last hit to behead him and stop his madness. The pain in his chest means nothing before the fear of endangering Nie Mingjue if he can’t stop the menace himself.

His hand spreads like a fan, feeling the rock beneath his fingertips, the soil strangely familiar; of a night twenty years ago, of his tears wetting the ground, of the ashes of his lover dissolving in front of his eyes. Hope and grief meshing in a weird concoction.

“Does it hurt, brother?” Jin Guangyao snarls. The saber dips slowly into his chest, as slowly as a wide smile stretches his lips. Lan Xichen’s countenance hints not an ounce of pain or resent, he stares into a pair of dark pools filled with blood and resentment. Not even like this can he find loathing in his heart, only the deepest sentiment of ruth. “To be killed by his weapon?” Baxia thrusts in another inch, a trail of blood trickling down the corner of his mouth, his pristine robes collecting his blood for themselves. “Maybe this will push him out of your heart once and for all.”

A smile tugs the corners of his mouth upward. “There are things no matter how hard you try, A-Yao, that are set in stone,” Lan Xichen says, his voice raspy.

Vaguely pleased by his words, Jin Guangyao screeches. Lan Xichen feels the saber coming out through his back, and yet he focuses all his spiritual energy in sealing his wounds and preserving his vitality. His hand clutches to the ground beneath, feeling a trace of hope, a discernible trail below the fine gravel that dusts his palm.

At great cost for his welfare, Lan Xichen casts a blast of spiritual energy directly into the ground, lifting a cloud of dust that surrounds them and disperses a few moments later. With his own spiritual energy, he revives the array Wei Wuxian designed and traced twenty years ago for this precise purpose. It’s still firmly engraved in the solid ground, the edges, curves, and ridges cracked in the stone. It shines in a bright blue, blinding him for a moment, the surrounding resentfulness vanishing in a column that reaches the skies.

They’re enclosed in the circle, Lan Xichen on one knee, Shuoyue still pressing against Jin Guangyao’s almost-sliced neck although firmly held on by an undead hand. But Baxia pierces right through his chest, and Lan Xichen coughs blood as gracefully as a Lan in the middle of a weary battle.

“Do you think this will trap me?” Jin Guangyao jeers. “That I won’t escape this mountain and uplift the world becoming again the chief cultivator they deserve?” Red eyes brimming with madness stare at him fixedly, the saber unmoving. Lan Xichen breathes in the clean air free of resentment, glimpsing at the still red moon bathing them with its shine and a red glare that brings a smile to his lips. “I will kill dage again,” he threatens, “play for him until I drive him mad while you watch, would you like that?”

“Save your spiteful threats,” Lan Xichen says, his voice calmed and unwavering for someone deeply wounded body and soul. “You’re hopeless.”

Jin Guangyao smirks and that face full of hatred and vengeful intentions brings a creeping feeling up his spine. “You’ll be such a pretty head,” he mutters, pulling Baxia out a few inches, making sure Lan Xichen feels the harshness of the blade. “Prettier than dage…” Lan Xichen swallows back the pain and the bad blood, grasping his dark, frail arm in an inescapable grip.

His words cannot hurt him anymore. Lan Xichen has accepted his fate. If something has ruled his life since he was very young was his determination to conduct himself righteously. Life hasn’t been kind to him, but he never became a victim of his circumstances. His mother perished when he was still a child, war stole his father from him, his own sworn brother killed the only love he cherished just for himself, and he had to bury him twice.

But he prevailed. Lan Xichen survived, became stronger, an honorable sect leader, he didn’t fade in irrelevancy, he didn’t let his life wither away. If he dies tonight, he’ll do it protecting Nie Mingjue, his brother, his family, his sect; fighting for what is right, defending those he loves. Never again standing idly while the world crumbles around his feet. He will gladly sacrifice himself in place of everyone he holds dear if that’s the price to pay; if that offers Nie Mingjue the peaceful life he deserves.

“You won’t hurt anyone ever again,” Lan Xichen snarls. His hand grips Jin Guangyao’s arm so harshly he feels how the undead flesh collapses and shrinks under his strength. When he tries to pull away, fear crosses Jin Guangyao’s eyes. He’s trapped. In the array, in the peak, by the hand of his brother who won’t even allow him to tear his own arm apart to escape. “If this is how I leave this world, so be it. I’ll take both of us.”

“Let go and I’ll be quick!” Jin Guangyao hisses.

The array works swiftly, draining the resentful energy, dispelling the black swirls of smoke hence Jin Guangyao’s main source of power. Lan Xichen’s eyes fix on his sworn brother, Shuoyue slicing through already tore fingers, through dead flesh and black blood. And yet he feels how the barrier around Bayingzhen mountain falls unexpectedly. As if a gust of fresh air had come through and through. “I… never meant to hurt you,” he babbles, “but this is unavoidable, I have to… this cannot be helped… our oath...”

A red glare conquers the sky, and it reflects on Jin Guangyao’s lifeless eyes. They brim with fear, a terror well-known, unforgettable. There was only one thing that frightened him in his past life, the only thing that would wake him up at night in a fright and drenched in a cold sweat. “We need to fulfill our destiny.” Jin Guangyao struggles to break loose, babbling nonsense while his eyes follow a broad, familiar figure that rushes toward him as deadly as it did when he was alive. He thought he couldn’t feel fear anymore, that he was invincible, something even greater than what he was in life. How wrong he was; how frail he is when Nie Mingjue towers over him with the heaviness of their past still over his shoulders.

Thick blood pools down his neck until not a single inch of yellow can be seen. “A-Yao!” Lan Xichen calls, grasping his sworn brother’s attention for the last time. In a well-aimed swing, the saber slices Jin Guangyao’s arm. Lan Xichen watches with bleary eyes how the mighty sword glares in the night like an inextinguishable torch. He lets go of the useless limb and withdraws his sword. He killed Jin Guangyao once, but this time, his existence doesn’t belong to him. Lan Xichen shakes the gore from his blade with a dignified flick and returns it to his sheath.

With a groan that resembles his name, Nie Mingjue lifts Dreamcatcher for another lunge. Both hands brandish the saber with white-knuckle force, the sharp end of the blade slicing Jin Guangyao from the dip of his neck to the side of his stomach. His eyes never leave those wells of hate and fear, for a moment, it scares him they mimic his own.

The saber leaves behind a red hue of spiritual energy, Jin Guangyao’s body steaming resentfulness as it dismantles in two useless parts. “D-dage…” Jin Guangyao rumbles from the back of his tattered throat. Nie Mingjue glares at him from behind two slits that seep everything but mercy. Single-handedly, his saber whirls in the air, decapitating Jin Guangyao, his head thumping onto the ground, dirtying his face as it rolls a few inches away. “Da-ge…”

Nie Mingjue’s chest rises and falls with his ragged breath, staring at his sworn brother in a mixture of rage and pity. Droplets trickle down the tip of his saber and tinge the dust in black. He swallows a lump in his throat, Jin Guangyao’s corpse scattered at his feet. The feeling of triumph he might have felt leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“No! Xichen-ge!” Nie Huaisang’s shout reaches his ears muffled by the pounding of his heart.

Before his soul scatters, Lan Xichen slams his palm against the array casting a blast of spiritual energy -as if he could spare any- and a blue glare rises to the sky and meshes with the moon. Jin Guangyao’s fierce corpse turns to ashes, some burning like embers in an almost extinguished fire, others flying to the night-sky like fireflies pursuing the stars. With the last remnants of his essence, Lan Xichen exorcises his soul, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “May the next life be kinder to you, A-Yao,” he whispers with a thin voice.

Despite his injuries, Lan Xichen has risked worsening his internal injuries. The backlash of liberating Jin Guangyao’s soul turns his face ashen, his eyes empty of the spark they usually hold as if he had lost the last of his strength on one last good deed. His mouth overflows with blood as he coughs.

Seeing Lan Xichen kneeling with Baxia stuck through his chest seizes his breath. There’s barely not a trace of white in his usually pristine garments. Crimson blood pools down, staining the multitude of layers in a deep red. The night paints a sense of foreboding, and a cold sweat drips down his spine. He was late, so late.

“Xichen!” Nie Mingjue falls on his knees, a hand on Lan Xichen’s back, the other grasping Baxia’s hilt and feeling nothing. The blade is dead, gone, empty of the spirit that inhabited there for so many centuries and fought with him so many battles. Part of him grieves for them, but a bad feeling settles in his heart when Lan Xichen nods, grasping his wrist with so little strength it scares him.

Nie Mingjue pulls out Baxia with a single movement of his arm to relieve him of the strain in his chest. The saber leaves Lan Xichen’s body and once it drops to the ground, it shatters. Pieces of rusty, dented metal turn to dust and disperse in a billowing mist. The array falls silent as if it held no more dangers. “Dage,” Lan Xichen says, a weary smile on his lips. Nie Mingjue cradles him and Lan Xichen finally collapses in his arms, deeming them both safe.

The blood stains his chin and the corners of his mouth. Lan Xichen lifts trembling fingers to cup Nie Mingjue’s face, unannounced tears trickling down his temples and dampening his hair. The sight of his face against a starry sky brings peace to his heart; the moonlight casting a halo around youthful yet sorrowful features. The residual resentfulness of the place weakens his body, his meridians collapsed by the lack of life coursing through them. He’s ready to die knowing Nie Mingjue is safe, and Jin Guangyao’s soul free of himself. The stars are so bright and his eyes so dark he feels the need to close them shut and sleep.

“Lan Huan!” Nie Mingjue calls. “Stay with me.”

“Dage,” Lan Xichen murmurs.

“I’ve been here; right here, I touched your face, and I wanted to kiss your lips, but then I drifted away… That’s the last thing I remember about my past life. Don’t you dare drift away from me.” A smile stretches on his lips, the air coming in and out in short, laborious breaths. “I didn’t come back from the dead to lose you.”

“It was my fight this time around, not yours.” Nie Mingjue shushes him, realizing clear droplets fall on Lan Xichen’s face and trickle down his cheeks. It is not a fortuitous sprinkle in the middle of the night but his own tears.

“Your burdens are mine. Your fights are mine. I would die for you again in the blink of an eye.”

“Ah, dage… but I wouldn’t let you.”

The happiness from the past hours disappears like a dream they had no time to taste and drifts into oblivion. “You can’t leave me alone in this life, in any life, I belong to you.”

“Will you find me again?” Lan Xichen closes his eyes with a last smile on his lips that vanishes when he loses consciousness, his hand falling unceremoniously to the side.

Nie Mingjue clutches him against his chest, still feeling the steady pulse of Lan Xichen beating, fighting to stay with him. “Every life I get to live, Lan Huan, I’ll always find you, but please…” His words cannot reach him anymore. “Xichen… please.”

Closing in, Nie Huaisang watches Jin Guangyao’s remains dust into the breeze while he clutches his folding fan with white-knuckle force. No matter how hard they tried, his shadow came back to torment them once again. The sight of Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen embraced in despair breaks his heart, but reason comes back to him in a rush. “Dage,” he calls, meeting Nie Mingjue’s dark, bleary eyes.

They came flying as fast as they could, but it took him too long to breach through the barrier. It was his own fault Lan Xichen came here alone in the first place. Nie Huaisang kneels beside him, grasping Lan Xichen’s wrist even though the sea of blood rises the bile in his throat in a mixture of anger and disgust. Despite his worries, he feels a steady heartbeat. “We need to treat his wounds, but we can’t do it here.”

“He’s not healing, nor getting worse either,” Nie Mingjue says, standing while carrying Lan Xichen’s limp body in his arms. His life will fade away if they don’t do something soon. They have no way to know how long will he hold on like this. A constant flow of his own spiritual energy helps him preserve the thread of life keeping him among them. His chest blooms in red like the pristine, beautiful iris from his dream; one moment they were an ivory white, the next the brightest scarlet shade.

“The Cloud Recesses,” Nie Huaisang says. Dreamcatcher unsheathes with a swoosh, and Nie Mingjue hops up to his saber, glancing one last time at his little brother with anguish painting his countenance. “Go, nevermind me! I’ll be fine!” He graces him with a reassuring nod and Nie Mingjue flies out in his saber, a red glare crossing the moon and heading directly to Gusu.

Nie Huaisang has no time to dwell on how to get out of this horrifying peak without his saber when he turns around at the noise of a party approaching. He recognizes the amethyst gleam of Sandu unsheathing and the elegant frame of his husband following closely behind. 

“Wanyin.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart stops at a halt when he spots Nie Huaisang alone, surrounded by corpses and debris of a fight he hopes he hasn’t fought. He scoots toward him, anger beating at every thump of his heart and every stride of his legs until Nie Huaisang crashes against his chest, shushing his worries away. A group of cultivators on guard stand behind their sect leader, only gasping and murmuring at the deadly landscape that Jin Guangyao left behind.

“This is keeping yourself safe?” Jiang Cheng mutters, holding him so close he knows Nie Huaisang struggles to breathe. “What are you doing here? What if you get hurt? What if I lose you? What if…” Nie Huaisang stands on his tiptoes for a sudden kiss that pleads for his silence. Albeit it’ll take more than that to appease his husband’s reasonable fit of anger. After all, he assured him that he’d stay safe in the Cloud Recesses and he broke his promise.

“How could I abandon my husband when he needs me the most?” The corner of his mouth pulls upward in a sly smile. “Besides, how could you ever lose me?”

“I’d chase you if you did.” Jiang Cheng peruses over the surroundings, taking in the signs of a lost fight, of his men butchered, and a pool of blood over Wei Wuxian’s array. A furrow settles in between his eyebrows. “The barrier was sealed. We couldn’t pass through until a moment ago.”

“It took me longer than I expected,” Nie Huaisang says. “Jin Guangyao’s fierce corpse trapped himself with Zewu-jun using the barrier, so I had to dispel it first in order to fly to the peak with dage.”

Jiang Cheng notes Nie Huaisang’s forehead dotted in a veil of perspiration and his ragged breath and realizes his husband has exhausted himself removing the barrier. Then that one last word clicks in his mind. “Chifeng-zun?” Jiang Cheng murmurs just for his ears. “What happened here?”

With a single nod, Nie Huaisang confirms his words. “We must hurry to the Cloud Recesses, Zewu-jun is badly injured. I’ll explain on our way there.”

Jiang Cheng turns about to speak to his men. “Guard the place and begin the cleansing of the remnants of resentful energy. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Yes, Sect Leader Jiang.” They cup his hands and nod in unison.

Surprising him in the middle of a sigh, Jiang Cheng winds his arm around Nie Huaisang’s waist at the same time he hops effortlessly on Sandu. They fly up to the sky, the nightly gale mussing up his hair, his feet finding the safety of the blade while he throws an arm around Jiang Cheng’s neck for support. “Follow that red glare.” He points at the distance.

“Hm.”

“My brother recovered his memories,” he mumbles as if he still couldn’t believe it. “Dage is back.”

“What happened to Zewu-jun? And Jin Guangyao?” Jiang Cheng stares at the night sky, tightening the arm around Nie Huaisang to hide the fear that coursed through him when he saw him alone at the peak.

“I think Zewu-jun tried to liberate his soul with the last specks of his spiritual energy and lost consciousness. He fought him alone but at great cost…” Nie Huaisang swallows a lump in his throat. The moment he found out Nie Mingjue was back, he knew Lan Xichen wouldn’t wait; that he would jump into a fight against his sworn brother to protect him, but he never foresaw the true danger he was getting into. “It may have cost him his life to save his soul.”

“It was foolish,” Jiang Cheng quips. “He didn’t deserve his mercy.”

“He would do the right thing no matter what.” Deep in his heart, Nie Huaisang knows that he would be incapable of such grace or honor. If it depended on him, Jin Guangyao would still be trapped and suffering for his crimes or wiped forever off the face of the earth. But his fate was not in his hands; not this time. He hides a deep sigh in his husband’s chest, turning his spite into the sincerest of concerns for Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue. Life never treats them how they deserve, and he fears another tragedy sifting into their love story.

“I’m still not done with you,” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “As if I could afford to lose you…” he mutters.

“Later,” Nie Huaisang retorts. “Or is Sandu Shengshou upset because he missed the fight?”

“Hmph!” A purplish glare crosses his gaze. Nie Huaisang cups his face to appease his husband and lock eyes with him. They spark with long-forgotten fears more than the desire of an unfought battle. Nie Huaisang knows all too well what wakes Jiang Cheng up at night and how adamantly he protects his family.

“Fly faster, if something happens to him… I wouldn’t forgive myself.” Complying his wishes, Sandu plows through the starry sky like a shooting star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! (੭ ˃̣̣̥ ω˂̣̣̥)੭ु⁾⁾
> 
> I needed Lan Xichen to have a heart to heart with Jin Guangyao, and my brain told me that the story couldn't end with just Nie Mingjue getting his memories back. They needed closure, the three of them, because there wouldn't be a happy ending with their sworn brother trapped in a coffin (´∀｀)♡
> 
> PS: Xichen please, hold on a little longer... (இ﹏இ`｡) Dage won't let anything bad happen to you...


	25. Chapter 25

The welcoming mist of the Cloud Recesses thickens as he approaches the perimeter of the Lan residence. Nie Mingjue feels Lan Xichen’s life drifting away in his arms; his own spiritual energy unable to fill the void that his injuries leave at every feeble heartbeat. He could do nothing more than seal his wounds and stop the bleeding momentarily, but his vitality fades away. The thought of him dying in his arms makes him fly faster than he has ever in his life, holding him close to his chest as if that would protect him from any harm.

After the ordeals they went through during the war, the battles they fought together, the ones they had to face on their own; the terrifying thought of losing him never crossed his mind. He trusted him, his prowess in battle, his unmatched swordsmanship. His way of fighting left no room for mistake, but this was not a fair duel; this was a sacrifice for everyone he loves and it shrinks his heart he couldn’t arrive earlier. He faced Jin Guangyao alone without a trace of doubt or regret, and yet he granted him salvation instead of destruction.

When they cross the threshold of the residence, Nie Mingjue leaps on the damp grass, Dreamcatcher sheathing on its own. Lan Xichen’s token of passage allowed him to penetrate the protective barrier that keeps unwanted visitors at bay, but he knows his presence gave out the alarm when three cultivators come to receive him. Their expressions turn ashen when they realize who he carries in his arms shrouded in deadly, crimson robes.

At the fork of the path, they convene and Nie Mingjue halts. Lan Qiren glares at him for a brief second before his eyes flick to his nephew. “What is the meaning of this?” Lan Sizhui and a young disciple stand behind him.

“I have no time to explain,” Nie Mingjue quips, his voice hoarse.

From behind the tall frame of Lan Qiren, Lan Sizhui comes forward, standing politely at his side, his eyes terrified by the picture in front of him. Lan Xichen hangs unconscious and limp on Nie Shengzai’s arms, and his heart stops at a halt. “Why is Sect Leader Lan in that condition?” He hides none of the anxiousness tingeing his words.

“Explain yourself, Young Master Nie,” Lan Qiren says, his voice revealing his distress.

“His life is at stake. I will answer to your demands when he’s out of danger.” With those words, Nie Mingjue turns around, taking the path up the mountains and praying to any god out there to be merciful with them only once; only tonight.

“Where are you taking him?” Lan Qiren fumes, his eyes fixed on the red-stained robes fluttering in the breeze.

“The cold spring,” Nie Mingjue answers, glancing back at him over his shoulder. “Where else could he recover from his wounds than in his home?”

“I will take him myself. You have a lot to explain, Young Master Nie!” But before he reaches out to Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang land nearby, interrupting the exchange.

“I will explain on his behalf. Cousin, go,” Nie Huaisang says, breathless, bracing himself on Jiang Cheng’s forearm while he gets used to his feet on the ground again. The fast journey and his own nerves have left him nauseous. “I am responsible for Sect Leader Lan’s wounds, not my cousin.”

“Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, but Nie Huaisang’s cunning gaze is enough for him to bite his tongue.

“Am I not responsible for the welfare of the coffin we sealed twenty years ago?” Lan Qiren hums his disgruntledness at him while approaching Lan Xichen’s limp body. Nie Huaisang sighs. An old tale will come in handy tonight; a tale of a threat coming back from the dead and a group of cultivators trying to handle it discreetly, fearful of disturbing the peace of the cultivation world. If he fools Lan Qiren tonight without having to give Nie Mingjue away, he will have to change his title from head-shaker to mastermind.

Lan Qiren’s hand presses against his forehead while his other grasps his wrist, feeling the real status of his body and the sword of Damocles hanging over his life. His eyebrows knit in a worrisome furrow, meeting the youth’s anxious eyes. They remind him of someone, of a lauded sect leader, of a warrior wronged and never forgotten. At this precise moment, Lan Qiren doubts he wants to know what transpired tonight. Nie Huaisang continues: “I will explain everything to the best of my knowledge, but you know as well as I do that only the cold spring can help his condition,” he says.

A deep sigh leaves his lungs, and Nie Mingjue nods as a silent promise of returning him when he’s out of danger. “Only until he wakes up,” Lan Qiren says, his hand lifting off his forehead. He swivels about, glaring at Nie Huaisang. “Why would you endanger my nephew, Sect Leader Nie?”

Decisively, Nie Mingjue turns in the direction of the woods with long strides. A white figure walks abreast of him, his voice exuding a calmness that he wished he had himself. “Young Master Nie,” Lan Sizhui says. “I will prepare the hanshi for his return so you can tend to him.” Nie Mingjue nods gratefully at him before Lan Sizhui allows him to follow the intricate path on his own, hoping the healing properties of the Gusu waters are enough to bring Lan Xichen’s strength back. He’s far from ready to take over his responsibilities as sect leader, not to mention he is even less ready to say farewell to an older brother. With a hand clutched tightly against his chest, his breathing hitches up.

Fear courses through Nie Huaisang when Lan Qiren towers over him, a frisson running through his spine and making his legs wobbly. Jiang Cheng steps by his side, his fists clenched tightly. The mere presence of his husband infuses a dose of much-needed courage in him. No matter how he answers Lan Qiren’s inquiries about what happened tonight, the world must not know what they did twenty years ago. The world must remain oblivious to Chifeng-zun’s return, to the Yiling Patriarch’s involvement, to the greater danger their actions unleashed many years later.

“The danger we suppressed in Bayingzhen mountain escaped,” he says, his voice calm and collected despite Lan Qiren’s imposing figure. “I came to inform Sect Leader Lan and ask for his help while Sect Leader Jiang gathered enough men to contain the situation.”

With Lan Sizhui gone, the third cultivator comes forward, grasping everyone’s attention. “It is true!” he says. Nie Huaisang recognizes the young disciple that patrolled the Cloud Recesses and received him hours before. “Sect Leader Nie came to seek Sect Leader Lan’s aid, and I passed on the message.” Guiltiness made him interrupt the conversation even though it’ll cost him a punishment that will involve copying conduct more times than he would want to. “Even though I neglected my duties by doing so.” He casts a downcast gaze at his own feet, hoping to help clarify the facts for Lan Qiren. “Soon afterward, Sect Leader Lan left the residence followed by Sect Leader Nie and Young Master Nie.” His heart filled with worries about the unprecedented situation, and they were confirmed when he went to inform Lan Qiren about Lan Xichen’s sudden departure.

Lan Qiren ignores the guilty disciple staring at his feet, pinning him in place with an unmerciful glare, and turns to Nie Huaisang. After all, he said nothing he wasn’t already aware of. “What happened to my nephew? Is the menace suppressed?”

“Whatever happened to him, Sect Leader Lan will answer when he wakes up, but by the time we arrived, any danger we buried in that mountain is now erased from this world. We owe him a great debt because he endangered himself before we could aid him in his empress.” Nie Huaisang hopes to appease his anger with a vague but truthful explanation.

“You still have a lot to explain,” Lan Qiren scoffs, squinting his eyes at him. “Sect Leader Jiang?”

“I vouch for my husband’s words,” Jiang Cheng retorts.

Nie Huaisang allows himself the hint of a smile, knowing he will answer countless questions tonight and that he will have to mask his lies with true facts about what really happened. And yet his heart is with his big brother and Lan Xichen. A long night looms over them, but he links his arm around Jiang Cheng’s and follows Lan Qiren toward the main hall.

 

Nie Mingjue never climbed the sinuous path up the cold spring with such haste leading his strides. His ragged breath echoes in the nooks of the rocks and the leafy woods while he carries his beloved in his arms. Happy memories of them sauntering the back of the mountain haunt him at every corner. Playing a breathless hide and seek, chasing Lan Xichen and finding him just by following the clear sound of his laugh, his robes billowing in the summer wind while he only had the outcome in his mind. Catch him, steal a kiss, frisk on the grass and make him forget the hour until the gentle reminder of a toll would paint a worrisome furrow between his eyebrows.

Scarce memories of their younger days, when he could forget he was a sect leader drown in responsibilities and Lan Xichen was a haven, the fuel of his life, his purpose. “Hold on, Lan Huan, we’re almost there,” he mumbles to himself, fearful to stop listening to that feeble but steady breathing.

The futile wish of shaping new memories together wraps around his heart. To enjoy life by his side as he should have instead of pursuing war, glory, and battles he had already lost before he even chose them. They cost him his health, his time, a life he will never get back. Nie Mingjue promises to make up for past mistakes, to make sure he smiles every day, laughs every day, and feels loved while trapped in his arms for years and years. So far, he has granted Lan Xichen more pain that rapture.

What is the point of it all if he realizes his mistakes and loses him the next moment? If he cannot stay by his side and worship him until they’re both old, hair sprinkled in grey and forgetful minds full of memories of their life together?

The narrow entrance to the pond encloses them while Nie Mingjue glimpses at the freezing waters with hopeful eyes. He will never be ready to say farewell to him; not tonight, not ever. If life ends for both, they’ll meet in the next because his soul will be entangled to Lan Xichen for the rest of his existence no matter how many times they fall in love, how many ordeals they face together or alone. Deep in his heart, he nurses a certainty that only the afterlife can grace you with. And love, love for him so sheer and true as the heaven and earth themselves.

His boots soak in the wintry waters, the cold sending a frisson through his spine. Nie Mingjue grasps a lungful of air before he walks unwaveringly into the cold spring. The stench of blood invades his nostrils, but he never stumbles nor hesitates. Water rises to his thighs and encases them both in a frostbitten cage. The stains on his robes turn pinkish when he submerges Lan Xichen’s limp body in the pond. Only his pale face remains out of its reach as serene as the night.

“Lan Huan,” he whispers, helping him float with a hand while the other wipes his mouth and cheeks clean of blood and dried-up tears.

The black sea of his hair paints inky undulations in the subtle waves of the surface only disturbed by the two ends of his forehead ribbon. Nie Mingjue halts in the middle of the lake, the calming noise of the cascade doing nothing for his inner turmoil. His thumb feels the soft, and deadly purplish of his lips, sensing the hint of a warm breath, his heart pounding against the palm pressing his upper back. Nie Mingjue trembles, unable to lift his gaze off cheeks that were always tinged in pink in his presence, others in a bright red, shiny from a veil of sweat, and lifted in the sweetest of smiles. They are so still and lifeless, bathed by the scarce light of the moon and the stars.

Glacial waters drench their garments, the moon casting its silver shine over them. Nie Mingjue wrinkles his eyes shut, unable to watch the blood dissolving in the pond. He hunches over, sobbing once before he swallows back all the tears, all the pain. Not yet, he won’t mourn for him when he’s still alive in his arms. He hides his grimace of sorrow in Lan Xichen’s neck, sinking with him, unable to keep the stream of spiritual energy around them as much as he tries to. If only his golden core was the one from back then, if only it were enough to close his wounds in an instant. But he never had the gift of healing, and Lan Xichen’s fate is left to his own cultivation and the mysterious waters of the cold spring.

“Please wake up, come back to me.” But as drained as he is from spiritual energy, it has to be enough. “Don’t leave me,” he begs, his voice carrying the strain of his heart as they sway along with the calm waters. “Not like this, not when I just got you back…”

Icy, long fingers thread in his hair. “Da-ge.” Nie Mingjue locks teary eyes with Lan Xichen. He stares back at him behind hooded lids, the hint of a smile on those thin, heavenly lips. “It’s me who got _you_ back…” His hand cradles his face with a lack of strength that breaks his heart, but he’s awake. “You never lost me.”

Nie Mingjue’s sobbing breaks into a throaty chuckle. His tears shining like crystal droplets as they trickle down his cheeks and seep in between Lan Xichen’s fingers. The moon snitches their presence at the same time it reflects in his deep, dark eyes. “If you wanted me to accompany you to the cold spring, you just needed to ask, Lan Huan,” he quips, taking his hand and pressing a dainty kiss on his palm. A fade pink comes back to his complexion.

“You’ll catch a cold again.” Lan Xichen’s voice comes out in a thin trail.

“I’ll warm us up.” Nie Mingjue holds Lan Xichen close to his chest, his arms supporting him with the added weight of the water permeating their clothes. He walks outside at a leisurely pace, his eyes fixed on him. He’s chilled to the bone, but Lan Xichen has awakened from his injuries and now he needs to take him to the hanshi to tend to his wounds. Some, they will be able to heal with rest and medicine; others will need time.

Nie Mingjue arrived too late to the fight; when Jin Guangyao was already doomed to a defeat, and yet he allowed himself the task of banishing him from this world once and for all. An oddly familiar rage invaded him upon seeing them together, a fear crawling up his spine like a bad hunch. No hesitation, no mercy guiding his saber, only the sheer determination to end with a menace that loomed over them for far too long already. How the encounter affected Lan Xichen, he guesses that’s something he’ll never ask.

He’s aware of the brotherly love Lan Xichen held for Jin Guangyao, which was one of the reasons he put up with him for so long. If Lan Xichen was so convinced he was good at heart, why not grant him a second chance? And a third? Why not trust him one last time in hopes he was being, indeed, too hard on him? Nie Mingjue sighs, pushing gloomy thoughts of the past to the back of his mind, and staring at Lan Xichen’s sleepy eyes and peaceful smile. He failed again to protect someone that didn’t need his protection, to begin with. He hugs him close and presses a kiss on the forehead ribbon as they leave the freezing pond and the gurgling cascade behind.

“It’s so cold, dage… I can’t stay awake,” Lan Xichen mumbles, his face huddling against his chest.

“Then sleep,” he whispers. Water trickles down their bodies, but Nie Mingjue smiles, feeling his steady breathing and the thundering beating of his heart. “I’ll get you somewhere warm, somewhere safe, and I’ll guard your sleep until you awake.”

Listening to those last words of love, Lan Xichen hides his gaze behind heavy lids and drifts into a pleasant nothingness that, after tonight’s events, feels like a blessing.

 

The chirping of the birds interrupts his sleep, seeping from his dreams to reality like the song of the spring in the Cloud Recesses, a melody he knows by heart. He can recognize the seasons ruling in his home by taking a lungful of air, listening to the current of the creek or feeling the thickness of the mist. Lan Xichen awakes slowly, coming back into consciousness as one would dip in a hot bath. There’s not a worry in his heart, his mind cleansed and his body recovered. He recognizes the softness of his bed, the scent of sandalwood of his room… and then he remembers, and his eyes spring open.

He lies on his side, his head resting over a comfortable pillow. A languid smile stretches on his lips when his eyes find him. Nie Mingjue dozes off at the edge of his bed, his arms huddled together and his head over them. Faint snoring comes out of his parted mouth, onyx lashes adorning his cheeks, his long ponytail draping down his shoulder. What a sight to behold.

The slightest discomfort puts pressure against his chest, and he sneaks a hand underneath his undergarments to feel his skin. No wound, no pain, but a pinkish scar to remember. He hopes his sworn brother finds the way to the afterlife and comes back to this world to live a kinder life that would shape him into something different. A life in which he nurses less hatred in his heart, in which he can make up for his crimes and become a better cultivator. Even now, there’s still hope for him.

A soft grunt brings a smile to his lips. Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows knit in concern even in his sleep, and Lan Xichen reaches to him, his hand moving the hair away from his face, grazing his scalp, and feeling his warmth against his cold hand. That furrow will leave a crease sooner than later, Lan Xichen guesses, and he cannot wait to see more of the Nie Mingjue of the past as he ages.

His thumb traces the sharpness of his jawline until it bumps on his earlobe. Of course, he loved Nie Shengzai while still enamored with Nie Mingjue; he loved them both because it was him all along. All those tiny bits he saw of him in a youth he couldn’t put a name to were those of Nie Mingjue. How was he so blind and so helpless as to ignore the signs? So drowned in his own grief to miss him?

As if woken up by his caresses, Nie Mingjue opens his eyes slowly, as slowly as a lazy smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Xichen,” he says with that sensual, raspy voice that curls his stomach. “You’re awake…” Nie Mingjue crawls up his lap and buries his face there with infinite tenderness, and Lan Xichen strokes his head.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“A week.” His voice comes out muffled, an arm winding around his waist. “Your wounds healed fast,” he says, turning his head to look at him, “but your body needed rest. How are you feeling?”

Lan Xichen graces him with an apologetic smile. “Get in the bed with me, dage.” Nie Mingjue crawls up obediently, snuggling against him while trapping him in his arms.

Nie Mingjue stayed by his side every minute despite Lan Qiren’s obvious displease. They tried to make him leave alluding Lan Xichen needed to rest and he could no longer help him, but he refused. He took care of him, washed his body, fed him food or water in those brief moments of consciousness, and made sure his wounds were healing properly. Everyone anticipated it would take at least a month for him to recover fully, but Nie Mingjue knew he’d wake up any day now. He knows the true strength of his golden core, the power Lan Xichen hides from everyone else but couldn’t hide from him when they entangled in dual cultivation.

“I thought I had lost you,” he mumbles, nuzzling against his nose, his hand stroking Lan Xichen’s silky hair.

“How could you? You always find me.” Lan Xichen drowns in those deep, brown eyes and finds Nie Mingjue where before he only saw a carefree youth. The spark of mischief, the recognizable warmth of his soul, the man he loved and lost and loved again from the depths of his heart.

“Don’t scare me like that again.” Their lips push together in a kiss that speaks all the words they need not hear to acknowledge. His favorite moments with him were like this, so intimate it would surprise anyone who didn’t know him well. But Lan Xichen knows he kept his tenderness just for him.

Escaping Nie Mingjue’s languid kisses, he cradles his face, leaning on an elbow while his lips tingle for more. “Have you been by my side all the time?” Nie Mingjue nods, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He admires Lan Xichen’s beauty with new eyes. His long, onyx hair draping down a shoulder, free of the forehead ribbon, of the crown of sect leader he usually wears. Without artifice, he’s even more ravishing, so out of this world, his heart swells at the sight.

“I wanted to kiss you as soon as you were awake,” Nie Mingjue quips, “and I promised you I’d guard your sleep. Everyone’s waiting for you to wake up.”

“We should lift everyone’s worries then.” Lan Xichen sighs, eyeing the eerie morning light that seeps through the window and almost reaches the bed.

“Later.” Nie Mingjue circles his waist possessively. “Now you’re all mine…” Even over the flimsy undergarments, his hand aches to feel the softness of his skin, traveling up his back while Lan Xichen yields and rolls over him, welcoming his greedy ministrations. Their legs entangle in a mess of sheets, and limbs, his mouth falling to trace in dainty pecks that smug grin of his.

“You’re incorrigible,” Lan Xichen chides, leaning on his chest. “What did I miss while I was unconscious?” he asks, trying to distract those greedy hands tugging and prying open the lapels of his undergarments.

“Does Sect Leader Lan wish to gossip?” Nie Mingjue teases, his hands sneaking underneath the thin sheet to feel the curve of his spine.

“Dage…” Lan Xichen warns, narrowing his gaze. “Why did you bring me here instead of the Unclean Realm?”

“You don’t remember?” Lan Xichen shakes his head, his eyebrows knitting as he fails to recall the events after he spent his spiritual energy in one last spell to free Jin Guangyao’s soul. He remembers snuggling against Nie Mingjue’s chest right after, of a sky starring a bloodshot moon and many twinkling stars. “You were so badly injured I took you to the cold spring to help you heal your wounds.”

“Ah… I see, then my uncle is aware of the situation?” Lan Xichen hoped to keep his clan out of this.

“Lan Qiren is far from pleased with my presence here, especially when I refused to leave your side…” Nie Mingjue says, a chuckle rumbling in his throat.

A smile breaks free on his lips. “I can see why, I’m surprised he didn’t kick you out of the Cloud Recesses,” he says. His forefinger traces Nie Mingjue’s eyebrow, the little wrinkles at the corner of his eye; all because of a smile he got to see scarce times in his previous life.

“Your brother interceded on my behalf.”

“Wangji is here?”

“Yes, his husband too. Huaisang found out their whereabouts and sent word of your condition. They arrived the next day.” The arrival of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian worsened Lan Qiren’s mood, but his nephew’s welfare surpassed old grievances. “He played for you the second night, all night…” After a night listening to the melody of the guqin, Lan Xichen’s wounds and cuts closed and stopped bleeding and even Nie Mingjue succumbed to a pleasant slumber.

“I thought I had listened to his music in my dreams,” Lan Xichen says, and then a deep sigh leaves his lungs. If they were unable to hide the events happening at Bayingzhen mountain a few nights ago, the cultivation world will soon find out about everything else. Twenty years after they suppressed the consequences of the Guanyin temple incident, they will have to confess what unfolded this chain of events; from the liberation of Nie Mingjue’s soul to Jin Guangyao’s. “Everyone knows, then?”

Nie Mingjue lets out a disappointed gasp, patting Lan Xichen’s backside and knowing his eagerness to check his wounds and trace them in kisses will have to wait. “As for your uncle, Huaisang told him the coffin failed to suppress _both_ fierce corpses.” Lan Xichen’s eyes widen at the brazen lie. “You resulted severely injured while battling Jin Guangyao on your own and liberated both souls at great cost.” Lan Qiren could never object this way of proceeding because the Gusu Lan Clan particularly takes to heart the order on how to face evil beings. “The explanation didn’t quite please him, and I am sure he will want to confirm the events with you, but Huaisang said…”

“… enough truths would successfully mask a bigger lie?” Lan Xichen finishes, shaking his head.

“Something like that,” Nie Mingjue chuckles. “The deed was already done, and the danger suppressed. Your clan sent a group of cultivators to deal with the resentful energy and played day and night until it cleared up. The place is safe again, there are even signs of life coming back to the peak of the mountain.”

Despite Lan Qiren’s anger and suspicions about what had truly befallen to Lan Xichen that night, since he was out of danger and recovering, and the cultivation world got rid of one of the most shameful ordeals that it had ever witnessed, he accepted Nie Huaisang’s words and inquired no further until Lan Xichen were awake.

“The official version of what happened will be explained to the cultivation world in the next conference.” To maintain the fragile trust among the sects, Nie Huaisang committed to admit and reveal the events himself, alluding it was his responsibility to ensure the safety of the coffin for a hundred years. “I’m sure Huaisang will know how to handle the situation,” Nie Mingjue says.

“I have no doubt.” Lan Xichen ponders how close they have been to losing everything after getting him back, and a frisson runs through his spine. “So, your identity is still hidden?” Nie Mingjue nods with a smug smile. Lan Xichen is glad Nie Huaisang went through the trouble of tweaking the truth to protect his big brother and what they did twenty years ago; he would have done the same. “And you won’t tell a soul?”

“Huaisang knows.” Nie Mingjue graces him with an insouciant shrug. “I’m assuming Wanyin does too. There’s no need to hide this from those who helped you back then.”

“I’ll tell Wangji then, if it pleases you.” Lan Xichen’s heart lifts at not having to hide the truths of his heart to his younger brother.

“I believe they already put two and two together,” Nie Mingjue quips. “As I said, I wouldn’t leave your side… and nothing escapes the cunning Yiling Patriarch.”

“What about my uncle?” Lan Xichen’s eyebrows knit in concern. If he ever had to confess to his uncle what they did, he knows he would never approve asking for the help of a demonic cultivator to free Nie Mingjue’s soul and disturb the perfectly sealed coffin for selfish reasons. But if he had to, he’d stand by his actions despite the trouble it unleashed.

“Your uncle believes I am Shengzai.”

“But he knew you so well, do you think he suspects something?”

Nie Mingjue chuckles at his worries. It is true he and Lan Qiren coincided in many conferences in the past, but they weren’t as familiar with each other as to recognize his soul. He allowed him to stay in the hanshi though, and after a heated argument in which he saw his face turn red and his voice rise higher than usual, Lan Qiren met his eyes for a few seconds and then his countenance softened. Back then, he thought he had admitted a defeat for the sake of Lan Xichen’s good rest, but now that the memory startles him again along with Lan Xichen’s worries, perhaps the old man is more perceptive and wise than he granted him to. “He knows enough to realize you are safe and loved,” Nie Mingjue says. “Huaisang’s story seemed true enough, and to avoid a conflict between our sects, he gave in.”

“Are you okay with not revealing your identity? It would mean so much to the Qinghe Nie Sect, and…”

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue smiles his name with a rapture he’s never known. “The world doesn’t need Chifeng-zun anymore.”

“I need you,” Lan Xichen whispers.

With infinite care, Nie Mingjue embraces him and rolls them over, lying on top of him while relishing in the subtle smile curling his lips, in those eyes sparkling with joy and cheeks blushed as they always get when they’re so close. “I don’t want to be my stubborn, angry self.” Lan Xichen stifles a snort, knowing Nie Mingjue will always be Nie Mingjue no matter the circumstances. “I want to cherish this second chance with you, to be what we were always meant to be. Together.” Nie Mingjue kisses his lips. “I am because of you, I live because of your endless love for me even though I’m undeserving of such a gift. Xichen, let me be by your side and redeem myself for the grief I brought to your life, please.”

“As if you needed to ask,” he gasps. “As if you had any doubt about who rules my heart for the rest of my days.” Lan Xichen’s heart thumps at every word of love he listens again from his lips. As if they were facing a path without insurmountable obstacles, just a road for the two of them and their families, to find the joy of life for as long as time allows them. “Dage,” Lan Xichen mumbles, his heart aching for the sworn brother he couldn’t save. “Do you believe he will find peace as we have done?”

Far from the anger he was expecting, Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows knit in a furrow. “If I did, so can Meng Yao.”

Lan Xichen caresses his face as if he still couldn’t believe he’s back. “I’m sorry about Baxia, I never thought this would happen…” Nie Mingjue shushes him, his thumb stopping his lips from wording any more nonsense. They have no need for forgiveness or gratitude in the arms of the other.

“No saber can match the joy of having you again in my arms,” he whispers. His thumb bumps into his chin and travels down the line of his neck until a warm palm sneaks underneath the lapels of his upper garments. Another unruly hand already fondles the lush curve of his backside.

“You mean in your hands!” Lan Xichen chides with a laugh. “Dage! I’m convalescing and you’re so shameless.” An unexpected moan comes out of his lungs when Nie Mingjue mouths at his neck, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Complain if you dare…” he whispers right before a soft bite that curls his stomach nice and warm. “It’s just you and me now.” Lan Xichen bites his lower lip, his body awakening in more than one way when those greedy lips and wet tongue trace their way up to his Adam’s apple. Then, an ill-timed knock on the double doors of the hanshi startles them both.

Nie Mingjue lets out a lazy grunt on the crook of his neck and a withheld smile stretches Lan Xichen’s lips. “Who would that be?” he asks while his lover stands enveloped in an aura of disappointment and goes to open the door. Lan Xichen fixes his clothes swiftly and sits upright on the bed, partly sad that they won’t be alone anymore and responsibilities will drown him until Lan Qiren fills the holes of Nie Huaisang’s explanation with his own version of what happened. That will be a long conversation he will need to have.

Opening the door ajar, Nie Mingjue finds a familiar face that made sure they had everything they needed while he was by his side. “Young Master Nie,” Lan Sizhui greets. “I bring you tea and something to eat.”

“Thank you,” he says, picking up the tray single-handedly. At Lan Sizhui’s anxious glance, he has no heart to snatch him from the joy of the news. Nie Mingjue opens the door and steps aside, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Sect Leader Lan! You’re awake!” Lan Xichen nods and beckons him to come inside, sharing a knowing glance with Nie Mingjue. “We’ve been all worried sick,” Lan Sizhui says, standing near the bed.

“I’ve been told.” Lan Xichen accepts the cup Nie Mingjue offers him, the hot beverage comforting his stomach and warming his chest. He has missed Lan Sizhui’s tea; one day he’ll tell him what happened, when he takes over his place as sect leader. Now that everything is over, they could take this secret to their graves, but he regards Lan Sizhui as family. Lan Xichen hopes his mistakes will teach him an important lesson about how doing the right thing isn’t always doing what’s wise or following common sense, but then he remembers who brought him up and stifles a smile. Lan Sizhui exhales a deep sigh, refusing the tea Nie Mingjue poured for him. He returns it to the tray, untouched. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. The situation isn’t of public knowledge yet, and we’ve been discreet about the circumstances of your injuries,” he says, but the subtle smile on his lips doesn’t match the crease in between his eyebrows. “You woke up earlier than we expected.”

“What is it then?” Lan Xichen graces him with a reassuring smile.

Lan Sizhui clears his throat, a tender blush spreading on his cheeks. “Before all of this happened, I meant to ask your advice about something,” he says. “I’ve been putting it off for far too long, and soon you’ll be flooded with visitations and I…” Hesitation interrupts him abruptly.

“Sizhui,” Lan Xichen says. “I may not be recovered yet, but I can still offer my advice in whatever you need.”

“If you need privacy, I can leave,” Nie Mingjue offers. 

Despite leaving Lan Xichen’s chambers without him wasn’t his plan, Lan Sizhui’s nervousness is noticeable even to him. These past days they haven’t talked much, but he was the one to bring him meals and anything Lan Xichen needed without uttering a word or doubting his presence there. He’ll be forever grateful for the moments they shared in silence beside his bed, for the times Lan Sizhui played to appease his mind and his impatience more than to heal Lan Xichen’s wounds.

“There’s no need.” He waves his hand, a smile creeping up his lips. “It’s a personal matter that I have no desire to hide any longer, so you might as well stay.” Nie Mingjue nods, realizing Lan Sizhui has no idea who he is. But he respects Lan Xichen and the bond he so brazenly exposed bringing him to the Cloud Recesses injured and staying by his side during his recovery. “Sect Leader Lan, I… Jingyi and I,” the subtle blush spreads on his cheeks at the same time a smile conquers his countenance, “we wish to become cultivation partners.” He gasps, relieved at the weight lifting off his shoulders. “This probably isn’t the best time to tell you, but we didn’t want to wait any longer.”

“I understand,” Lan Xichen says, wondering when has he been so busy as to miss the relationship that sprouted under his nose. “When I am recovered, we will speak with my uncle and make the arrangements.” Lan Sizhui nods. “I am happy for you both.”

“Thank you, Sect Leader Lan.”

“Please, Sizhui, inform my uncle and Wangji that I am awake,” Lan Xichen asks, ignoring Nie Mingjue’s discreet grunt of displeasing.

“At once.” Lan Sizhui cups his hands and leaves feeling lighter than he came in. He hoped to find Lan Xichen still unconscious and Nie Mingjue brooding at the foot of his bed, but he poured out the truths of his heart and found out the sect leader is recovered. He cannot wait to bring the good news to Lan Wangji.

Nie Mingjue sits on the bed by Lan Xichen’s side, taking the cup from his hands and placing it back on the tray. “Why did you do that?” He traps his chin in between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head for a peck on his lips. “I wanted you for myself a while longer…”

“Everyone will be here in a moment,” Lan Xichen whispers, regretting his stupid decision, but he needs to get this over with and rest knowing nobody is worrying about his condition. Nie Mingjue knows, smiling languidly while he steals another kiss until he leaves Lan Xichen breathless. “Behave,” he gasps, eliciting a throaty chuckle from Nie Mingjue, who serves another steamy teacup. Lan Xichen sips at it and hums softly. “Seems like we will be attending a wedding soon.” A sigh leaves his lungs. Lan Wangji is probably aware of the news already, and most likely pleased if the decision brings such a sweet smile to Lan Sizhui’s lips.

“Yes, ours,” Nie Mingjue says, a smug grin on his face.

Lan Xichen almost chokes on his tea. “Dage!” He chuckles, not sure if he has heard right. But his heart has, and it thumps in his chest as it did before their first kiss.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Nie Mingjue murmurs, his hand cradling his face, his foreheads pressing together. Lan Xichen nestles the cup on his lap, but Nie Mingjue steals it again and takes a hand into his. “I want to spend the rest of my life by your side, and as soon as you are well, we’ll marry and live together as husbands and cultivation partners.”

Lan Xichen smiles, his cheeks flushed like they haven’t been in days. “Don’t I have to agree first?”

“Hm,” Nie Mingjue gives him a peck on his lips. “But I won’t live apart from you, I want us to have the life you want, but together. We can live here or back in Qinghe, I don’t care.” Nie Mingjue places his hand over his chest so he can feel how steady it beats. This is not a reckless decision, this is the man he knew and lost finally asking him to marry him. “Xichen, ple…” Velvety lips press against his own, happy tears trickling down his cheeks despite his best efforts to prevent them.

“Yes,” Lan Xichen whispers right into his mouth, his hand clutching to his garments, his lips tingling and trembling slightly. He would have said yes thirty years ago. “You took your time.”

“I know,” Nie Mingjue gasps, falling again for his mouth, his hand wrapping around his neck, his tongue tracing the curve of a smile.

“I have no more ties here, we’ll go to Qinghe,” Lan Xichen decides, his stomach curling at a decision he should have made a long time ago. Whatever circumstances prevented this from happening thirty years ago, they don’t matter anymore.

“Half a year there, half a year here,” Nie Mingjue quips. “Wherever I see that smile of yours, wherever you want to go I’ll go too. We’ll night-hunt together, climb every heavenly mountain in this world, duel and fight or live a tranquil life in the country…”

“You have everything so well thought,” Lan Xichen says, his voice brimming with rapture.

Nie Mingjue refrains from telling him those dreams about their future life together were the only consolation while he waited for his recovery. “I’ll love you under a starry sky and a full moon,” Nie Mingjue whispers low and raspy, a hand threading in his hair, the other winding around his waist and pushing him onward. “Under the sun of midday where the lack of light can’t conceal your beauty, and every day until you tire of me.”

“For all eternity it is, then,” Lan Xichen says, his voice wavering at those promises of foul love that he’s sure Nie Mingjue will fulfill. Escaping his mouth, he smirks: “So, you have planned to tell my uncle about this decision…”

“Well, it’s your uncle,” Nie Mingjue mumbles, his eyebrows knitting slightly. “It’s only fair…”

“Is Chifeng-zun scared of Lan Qiren?” Lan Xichen chuckles.

“Oh please, Xichen.”

“You will; if he comes into the hanshi and finds us like his.” A spark glitters in his eyes before his mouth steals another deep kiss, his hands holding him tight, their hearts beating in unison once again.

A timely knock on the door interrupts their exchange, but not the cheerfulness of their smiles nor the newly-found warmth in their hearts. Souls that fate once broke apart to never grace them with even a speck of the love they felt for each other; souls that reunited and fell in love anew like a dream come true, in the same world, but in another time, in another life.

Theirs. Forevermore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ೕ(˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ๑)  
> And that's it! Months of writing and editing and a lot of daydreaming compiled in the longest fic I've ever written. NieLan is happy and together, so my job here is done .+:｡(ﾉ･ω･)ﾉﾞ Bless y'all for your support and kind words, I hope you had a good time because I sure did!
> 
> PS: Yes, this is the last chapter but there's a Chapter 26 that will be up this Friday. An extra Epilogue that... well... my hands slipped and I wrote more NieLan *shameless* smut xDDD


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄ This is just papapa because I couldn't help myself. There's a bit of the classic Forehead Ribbon play and Lan Xichen is a bit drunk xDD A few tags to keep in mind before you continue: #Wet&Messy #Rope Play

They have indulged so much during the celebrations that the liquor warms their flushed cheeks. No one can tell if the newly wedded husbands are embarrassed by the multiple shows of love from their family and guests or if they are just heady of rice wine and happiness. Lan Xichen lost count of how many wine cups Nie Mingjue fed him interlacing their arms, with a smug grin on his lips and eyes sparkling with promises for tonight. He drank the intoxicating, sour wine while drowning in them. Honoring the customs of the clan he’s marrying into, he overlooked his own code for one day.

And now, after a perfect evening and a beautiful ceremony, Nie Mingjue carries Lan Xichen in his arms while he heads to their chambers. Nie Huaisang chose for them a quiet residence at the top of the Unclean Realm, accessible by a hanging bridge and far from the lively activity of Qinghe. He thought of Lan Xichen’s need for solitude and meditation and didn’t want him to miss the peacefulness of the Cloud Recesses while living here. The other reason for choosing this place is a stonework balcony; the highest one, with a ravishing view of the mountains scraping the sky and pointing toward Gusu. If Lan Xichen wanted to, he could hop on his sword and arrive at his home in an hour.

Carelessly, Nie Mingjue opens the doors of their brand new chambers with a kick. “Dage!!!” Lan Xichen chides, mildly intoxicated.

When they both left to get properly dressed for the official ceremony, he had no time except for a stolen peck on his lips. After they bowed to the heaven and earth, to their ancestors, and each other, he could barely get a glimpse of the man in front of him. Through the bright, crimson veil, he discerns the sharpness of his jaw, the gentleness of his eyes, a smile that he will pamper in dainty kisses until his lips are as red as their garments.

He leaves him on the ground and swivels about to close the double doors, a chuckle rumbling at the back of his throat. A gentle breeze billows the red, see-through curtains and offers a much-needed relief. The summer fades in favor of an autumn very different from the one they lived a year ago; when by chance, they met again. 

Nie Huaisang has outdone himself preparing the banquet and offering a feast that is still ongoing after they retired for their wedding night. And the primly embellished room… Lan Xichen turns on his heels, admiring through a red filter the many decorations hanging from the walls. A delicate fabric rims the canopy of the wooden bed, the red and gold duvet embroidered in clouds, swallows, and distant mountains. Many paper lanterns hang from the ceiling, the room brimming with the scent of lilies and orchids. A large vase of countless, delicate red lilies adorn the bedside table and the corners of the chambers he has yet to explore.

This will be their home from now on, their haven, so close to the skies he still fears his feet would lift off the ground like they would in a dream. “Huaisang arranged all this for us?” Lan Xichen murmurs, his heart swelling at the many good omens blessing their union. Even his uncle seemed to rejoice in their marriage, his lips slightly curved upward as they stood in front of each other like two crimson shadows, and bowed, becoming cultivation partners.

“Hm,” Nie Mingjue answers, wrapping an arm around his waist and cradling his face with a warm, gentle palm. Lan Xichen stares at him from under the veil, eager to receive their first kiss as husbands. Part of him is deeply embarrassed by how Nie Mingjue snatched him in front of everyone and insisted on carrying him all the way up; but on the other hand, Lan Xichen cannot wait to consummate the ceremony and call him husband from now on.

Distracted by his own thoughts, Lan Xichen gasps when Nie Mingjue cups his face and presses their mouths together through the thin barrier that is the veil. He can almost savor the comforting taste of Nie Mingjue, those young lips that he gets to kiss every day and that steal a smile from his own, lips that had forgotten how to show true rapture. “That’s not how it’s done,” he chides, lifting his hands to grasp the hem of the importunate veil.

Nie Mingjue shushes him, grasping his wrists with endless tenderness. “I won’t get to see you like this again,” he whispers. Lan Xichen’s hands break free of his hold and huddle against his chest. His breath hitches up in his chest when Nie Mingjue lifts the veil as slowly as a smile stretches on his lips. He reveals plump, velvety lips that contrast with the jade likeness of his skin.

When their eyes meet, his heart stops at a halt at the sight of his sworn brother, his lover, his friend, his partner in life and in death, his husband, his _everything_. He dreamed of this and woke up with a sheer sentiment of love. Out of cowardice, he postponed his confession, his proposal, and their wedding until it was stolen from them as only death can. But they found each other again, in a life kinder than they never thought it could be. “I found you,” he whispers, lifting the veil with a flick of his hands and hiding underneath with him.

The perfect shield from the world is a see-through, scarlet fabric soaked in the scent of incense, sandalwood, and lilies. “About time,” Lan Xichen gasps. The elaborated top-knots and the high crowns act as timely support for the veil that drapes down their heads. Nie Mingjue sighs, the beauty of his smile taking him aback. “Are you getting emotional, dage?”

Lan Xichen would never confess how many happy tears did he shed during their ceremony, but he can tease the fool in love elongating the moment before their kiss. “I always dreamed about marrying you, just like this.” Strong arms thread around his waist, pulling him closer, their mouths hovering over each other like an unfulfilled promise.

Clutching the lapels of a red robe embroidered in gold, Lan Xichen parts his lips and cocks his head to the side. Their noses brush gingerly before their lips stroke each other in a feather-like caress. Gentle, unhurried, because for the first time in many years they have all the time in the world to relish in foolish kisses, to kiss again, to lose their breaths in the other’s mouths, retreating only to gasp for air.

Nie Mingjue lifts the scarlet veil as they kiss. It hangs from Lan Xichen’s up-do as he nibbles at his lips for a moment just to dip his tongue and find his taste in the next. A gilded crown with a heavy ruby in the center supports the delicate fabric as they kiss. The precious stone catches the reflection of the candlelights filling up the bedroom with a warm aura. Their cheeks flush in pink, their lips mumbling their mutual affection in the shape of kisses shier than they ever shared. It couldn’t be any other way on their fated day.

As they gasp for air, twin smiles brighten up their countenances. “Let a kiss seal our union tonight,” Nie Mingjue mumbles, falling for Lan Xichen’s mouth, his hands cradling his face.

“Again, you mean?” he teases, yielding to a gentle press of their lips. “You already gave us a kiss.”

“Seal it twice, then,” a smug grin tingeing his words. “and every day.” Nie Mingjue lifts him in princess-style and carries him to the bed.

“Dage!!!” Lan Xichen chastises him for the ninth time tonight. He places him on a side of the bed and sits beside him. Kissing both his cheeks, he notes them blushed and heated, his plump, reddish lips glistening after the previous kisses. Nie Mingjue reaches for a jar of liquor that was hidden behind a vase of lilies. “No more wine or I’ll fall asleep,” Lan Xichen chuckles.

“You won’t sleep until tomorrow’s sun is high in the sky.” Nie Mingjue removes the lid of the jar. “I know wine goads you to play for the stars, but tonight, you’ll have to settle with me,” he quips with a smug smile. The scent of the liquor invades his nostrils with sweet memories while he pours two cups and hands one to his husband. “And it’s not wine.”

Lan Xichen accepts the cup, knowing there’s no use in taming Nie Mingjue’s joy tonight, nor his own. “Then you might as well sate your thirst while I’m asleep,” he purrs, hiding a smirk behind the cup, his eyes glazing with lust. The thought of waking up with a moan struggling to get out of his throat and Nie Mingjue’s hard length inside him curls his stomach nice and warm.

“That I will too,” Nie Mingjue says, his voice dropping a notch. “As soon as you nap in my arms, you’ll be defenseless before your husband.” His raspy promises caress his ears and a gasp leave his lungs. Interlacing their arms, Nie Mingjue’s lips hug the rim of the cup, waiting for him, and Lan Xichen yields.

Sweet, intoxicating liquor from Qinghe trickles down his throat and reminds him of their first kiss, of a night under the stars, of a youth long forgotten. Then he eyes the jar and smiles, meeting his husband’s gaze with all-knowing eyes. “It’s the one we had, handmade in Qinghe,” Nie Mingjue says. “I searched for it in my old chambers.”

“You knew where to look for a jar of liquor the same kind we shared thirty years ago?”

“Yes, I hid this for us for so long, waiting for a special occasion, and what’s more special than tonight?” Nie Mingjue fetches the cups and puts them aside. He wants Lan Xichen intoxicated of him and wine; enough to get rid of that facade of perfection and coy demeanor that will vanish as soon as the forehead ribbon is gone and tied somewhere around him. “I wondered,” he murmurs, unhooking the veil off of the crown. The fabric billows in the air until it pools at the feet of the bed. “If in my past life, this liquor helped me steal a kiss, what if now it aids me in stealing you away forever.”

“Oh, dage,” Lan Xichen laughs, cocking his head to a side. “I’m afraid you accomplished both deeds on the same night.”

“Did I?” Nie Mingjue takes the long, golden needle between his fingers and pulls, removing Lan Xichen’s crown as his hair drapes down like a wave of the sea in the middle of the night.

“What will you achieve tonight if you already own my soul and my heart?” Lan Xichen quips, his hands unconsciously grabbing the lapels of his outer robe and sliding it down his shoulders. The thick, crimson gown falls around his hips by its own weight.

Nie Mingjue shoulders off the garment too and scoots closer, his hands expertly prying away his robes, unfolding knots, revealing layers upon layers of red until he gets a peek of alabaster skin and the ridges of a heavenly-chiseled collarbone. “Now I’ll unwrap my husband and enjoy the wonders of his timeless body,” he promises, desire coiling down on him. He hopes to have the patience to dig them both out of their wedding garments before he rips them all or takes him in a pool of red silk and golden thread.

Feeling his uneasiness, Lan Xichen traps his mouth in a heated, wet kiss while his hands find blindly the oval jade of his crown and free him of his weight. His hair remains tied up in a high ponytail. Nie Mingjue grunts softly, biting Lan Xichen’s lower lip; a thud resounding when he drops the unnecessary accessory over a bundle of discarded garments.

Because in their bed, they only need their skins.

Some say the youth fell utterly besotted with the Jade of Lan since they met at Phoenix Mountain, that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of him during the Gusu Conference, that he won the martial arts competition to please him because Zewu-jun came to watch him as he used to do for his sworn brother. They murmur how his resemblance with the ever-present Chifeng-zun has helped him arrange such a well-suited marriage. 

Others say Sect Leader Lan is enamored for the first time ever; as if Chifeng-zun had returned, and he had forgotten the grief ruling his heart in favor of the future Sect Leader of the Qinghe Nie Sect. Gossips about how the youth stole Lan Xichen’s armored heart and brought a smile back to his lips; of how he warmed up a hibernating soul with promises of young love. No matter how accurate or foolish the cultivation world’s guesses are, those who _know_ rejoice in happiness at their union. They see what it means for them to be reunited after a lifetime apart.

Lan Xichen gasps for air after breathless kisses, a thin, see-through robe remains as the last garment covering his skin. “Everyone believes you married me because I look like Nie Mingjue,” he chuckles as he stands, unable to avert his gaze from the almost naked god coiling shyly on the bed.

“It’s you!!!” Lan Xichen says, feigning offense. “Stop teasing me about it.”

“And you married someone so young…” Nie Mingjue peels off the last few layers until he presents himself naked in front of him, unabashed of his nudity. Lan Xichen’s eyes flick to the succulent treat in between his thighs, his tongue wetting his lips briefly. He scoots closer to the edge, cold hands finding the nigh unbearable heat of his skin. “A future young sect leader, no less… who’d know Zewu-jun knows no shame… ah!”

His teasing dies in a shameful moan when Lan Xichen grasps his half-hard length with a caring hand and dips the tip into his plump, wine-soaked lips. “Xichen,” he gasps, his fingers threading in his hair, his legs suddenly finding hard to ground him. His mouth ripples around the tip, his tongue twirling around his head until his cock swells into a full-on erection, filling his mouth with its magnificent girth.

Nie Mingjue thrashes his head back, mumbling a curse under his nose. The warm, wetness of his mouth envelopes him like a dream as he suckles around him. A naughty hand sneaks underneath and nestles his sac until he forgets the teasing words that he wanted to say to bring a bright red on his already flustered cheeks. “Uhm… dage,” Lan Xichen purrs, a clear, delicate thread joining his bottom lip with him. “Do you want to keep teasing me, feeding me wine,” his hand massages him gently while his lips purse in a pout that speaks of how drunk he is, “or consummating our marriage once and for all?” 

The forehead ribbon still wraps around his forehead but Lan Xichen remains unrestrained. Nie Mingjue grunts, crawling on the bed while Lan Xichen retreats with a smirk on his lips, eager to feel those twitching muscles tangling around him. “Fair enough,” Nie Mingjue says in a throaty whisper. “You enjoy my young body and I enjoy the glory of having conquered your heart twice.” He tackles him against the bedding in a full-body caress. His hands tug and rip the flimsy fabric until he bares a heaving chest and mouths at it as if he was starving.

Their garments pool unceremoniously around the bed while they lay naked in a bed so red it could be covered in rose petals. “Dage,” he gasps, grazing his muscled back. Nie Mingjue ensconces himself in between his legs as if it were his home; because it is. Lan Xichen wraps his legs around him, pushing him onward, allowing that greedy mouth to bite and taste ripe jade flesh. A moan escapes from his lips when Nie Mingjue clenches his teeth harshly on a mouthful of his neck.

“You’re so shameless when you drink…” he teases, his tongue licking his way up to the shell of his ear.

“Who’s fault is that?” His voice breaks into soft gasps. Their lengths brush against their naked bodies, Nie Mingjue swaying and grinding against him so unhurriedly he could get off by just this. He notes it, and with a last peck on his parted mouth, he kneels between his legs and admires the mess he has made of him in less than it takes for an incense stick to burn.

Lan Xichen’s lips purse, glancing at him behind hooded lids. He has squirmed out of the inner robe that gets lost in the red wedding duvet, the only garment on him his forehead ribbon; a beautiful piece in red silk with a pair of clouds embroidered in golden thread. It was one of Nie Mingjue’s betrothal gifts. With a tug, Lan Xichen unfolds it, smiling while beckoning Nie Mingjue to place his hand over his palm. He obediently does, watching how tenderly he knots one end of the silky, long ribbon around his wrist.

“Mine,” Lan Xichen states.

Nie Mingjue’s smile widens, his left hand trapped by the weightless fabric while he ties the other end around Lan Xichen’s right wrist.

“Yours.” He leans forward, trailing kisses up to his sternum, feeling his ragged breath and the beating of his heart. “I’ll take my time with you,” he promises, dragging his mouth over twitching muscles, his tongue aching to taste him. “I’ll drown on you until you can only feel my love,” he whispers against his mouth.

“All I want...” Lan Xichen says, a smirk on his lips, his hands winding over his shoulders and up to his strong neck, “... is my husband to forget all those promises of gentleness and indulge in a night we will never forget. Nights we’ve already had but always with a threat hanging over our heads.” His hand tightens his hold around him, his head lifting off the comfortable pillows and finding his mouth for a bite harsher than Nie Mingjue expected. “Take me now that we’re free,” he whispers into his mouth. “Take all of me and wreck it in the name of love because I belong to you.”

Nie Mingjue grunts, his stomach clenching at those words of unabashed, wholehearted love. He bites him back, stealing a whine from his lungs. “We belong to each other.” His hands roam the sides of his body, his mouth busy with plump, velvety lips that mumble pleas for more. At times, he feels the ribbon tangled, tugging at his unrestrained hand, but the meaning brings a triumphant smile to his lips. “Xichen, let me find the oil, it’s in my garments, I…” 

His words halt in a soft chuckle when Lan Xichen lifts a vial in between his fingers, the golden liquid promising to accommodate all their needs tonight. “This you mean?” he jests.

“I shouldn’t underestimate your eagerness,”

“You shouldn’t underestimate me, ever.” Lan Xichen bites the side of his strong jaw, noting how a few droplets dot on his chest while Nie Mingjue coats his fingers in the slick oil.

A pair of fingers stroke his rim and steal a gasp from him. Their gazes meet while Nie Mingjue pushes them inside him, his body answering with the patience of lovers that meet every night and can’t tame their urges. His heart thumps at the familiarity of his touch, of the heat inside him while he coats him in lubrication with the same urgency as their first time. His mouth parts at every thrust of his fingers, his eyes glazing with the same impatience that rules his hurried actions.

“Dage…” he begs, his legs spreading another inch. With a palm firmly pressed against the bedding and the other in between his butt cheeks, Nie Mingjue speeds up his movements, the muscle softening around them. One more plea from those lips and he’ll know no restraint. “Please, no more… I want you.” He fumbles for the oil again while Nie Mingjue withdraws his fingers and sits on his calves, his chest rising and falling with his breathing.

Lan Xichen pours the contents on his erection, the oil sliding down his shaft, making his cock glisten in a mixture of oil and his own arousal. Lan Xichen stares at Nie Mingjue giving a long stroke to his length while he hooks his legs on his elbow pits. “Mingjue, please.” The red lace twirls on the bed, tracing undulations, an intricate path as complicated as the life they got to live only to end up at this precise moment. No matter the ordeals they went through, the lonely nights, the grief and the pain, because that red ribbon joining their wrists is a symbol of the red string guiding their souls to find each other.

At the shameless plea, Nie Mingjue groans, cleaning his hand from excess oil on the bedding. “You’ll be my undoing, Xichen.”

“Am I not already?” Lan Xichen teases with a sultry smile on his lips, his stomach curling in anticipation when Nie Mingjue squeezes the back of his thighs with strong, calloused hands. He gropes for his butt cheeks, fondling his tender flesh while admiring his perfect, tip-rounded cock. It leaks a clear trail on his stomach, his hole slicked and softened, not at all ready for his generous girth, but that will surely swallow him whole in no time.

Nie Mingjue cups his cheeks and lifts him, Lan Xichen letting out a moan while his legs hover in the air. He aligns himself, sensing the heat that waits for him inside him. His fingers leave marks on his skin because of his forceful grip, his cock tugging gently until he swivels his hips forward and plunges in. Heavenly, tightness welcomes him, his heat hugging him while he dallyingly slides in a seamless glide that leaves them both out of air.

He grunts, watching his length disappearing into him, his muscles trembling as he supports his lower body. He allows him a moment to accommodate his size while he watches his features contorted in pleasure, his eyebrows knitted in a furrow of discomfort. Their bodies fit, used to the nightly activities they indulge into every night. As if they could give the other a recess after so many years apart. Nie Mingjue aches to feel him at the end of the day and first thing in the morning, leaving him peacefully asleep and exhausted and making sure he awakens knowing he’s loved, and cared for, and needed above all; with his whole body-weight trapping him against the mattress.

“Make love to me, dage,” Lan Xichen whispers, at his mercy.

Nie Mingjue leans forward, his lips pressing daintily against a rosy scar that still shrinks his heart when he sees it. Not even the soft whining of Lan Xichen distract him of his sudden pain. “To think that I almost lose you,” he mumbles. His thighs keep Lan Xichen in place, his cock warm inside him, unmoving just yet.

Kissing his forehead, Lan Xichen smiles. “Never,” he whispers, gasping when Nie Mingjue pulls halfway out only to lunge back and steal his name from his lips. His arms bracketing his head, his cock thrusting back into him one more time. “Ah, more, dage…”

He complies dutifully with his husband’s wishes and comes back harder, deeper, swelling inside him as if his release was imminent despite the briefness of their mating. Lan Xichen squirms for more, his legs finding his way over his shoulders while he endures Nie Mingjue’s onslaughts, his lips stealing his breath at every slam of his hips.

“You’re so beautiful, Lan Huan,” he whispers.

“And you’re so big…” Lan Xichen bites his lower lip, a moan rumbling in his chest.

A smug grin conquers his lips, and Nie Mingjue slows down his pace while grasping Lan Xichen’s wrists. He moves them up his head, his thumbs tracing his racing pulse point, and before he can complain, he folds the length of the ribbon twice on his other wrist and pulls, tying them together in a crimson bundle. “Yes,” Lan Xichen mumbles before he invades his mouth all teeth and tongue. He keeps him pinned single handedly while the other hooks one of his legs on his elbow pit, spreading his legs wider.

He can’t escape, now or ever, not when Nie Mingjue answers only to his impending desire of owning him. He’s sprawled and defenseless, opening his mouth to a hot, wet tongue that enters his mouth as forcefully as his cock splits him open. Lan Xichen moans, boneless, surrendering to the pleasure shaking him whenever he slams into him and his cock fills him to the brim.

“I’ll meet you in every life we get to live,” Nie Mingjue groans, his gaze lost down between their bodies. Lan Xichen bends in an impossible angle while he keeps him there and pounds into him like an animal in heat. “I would fall in love with you over, and over…” Every promise that barely reaches his ears is a deep thrust, a soul-tearing jolt of pleasure that tightens his groin and threatens to send him over the edge. Just by this, by him, by his thick, mighty cock reminding him he belongs to Chifeng-zun and no one else for the rest of his existence.

“I know,” he begs in between kisses. “M-more…” Nie Mingjue drinks the words directly into his mouth, knees grounded on the bed, hunched over to nestle Lan Xichen in between the bedding and his abandon. His hand wrings the ribbon tightly as he grasps one of his wrists, Lan Xichen’s offering no resistance to his hold.

He pounds into him with the ruthlessness of his lust, shoving himself deep with a shameful slam and noise they’re so used to now. The heat is nigh unbearable, and Nie Mingjue realizes it’ll be fast when he lifts his gaze and drowns in his eyes. Teary, where joy and desire mesh together, his parted mouth singing a song he knows all too well. His hips can’t answer to his plea to elongate this, he thrusts in and pulls out at the rhythm of his panting breath. Nie Mingjue comes, eyes wrinkling shut, his whole body shaking in an impending orgasm as he comes thoroughly inside him.

Lan Xichen traps him, his hole fluttering around him while he’s caught up in his own climax, his cock twitching and spilling on his chest. He clenches his fists tight, a muttered moan leaving his lungs in a sigh in the shape of his name. “Dage…”

He hides in the crook of his neck, unhooking Lan Xichen’s boneless legs. They fall at both sides, slack and trembling. Both their hands interlace together, the ribbon daintily curled around them. Nie Mingjue traces his palms, his fingers, intertwines their fingers and squeezes because he can’t find words for the mindless joy he’s submerged into. “Was I too rough?” he asks.

His half-hard cock is still sheathed inside him, his hole overflowing with cum and oil, but neither of them feels the need to move just yet. His wet lips press against his sweaty neck, goading Lan Xichen to ease his worries. He turns his head about, their noses bumping, a ravishing smile stretching on his lips. “Not enough,” he breathes out. Whatever discomfort or soreness he feels, is surpassed by the wholesomeness of their union. Sometimes Lan Xichen needs him like this, unrestrained, unadulterated by anything because that’s the raw love he always found in Nie Mingjue. As straightforward and hot-blooded as he is, as destructive, intense, and unforgiving. And yet the most tender when he’s sated and defeated, empty of his lust even if the recess lasts merely a few minutes.

“Husband…” Lan Xichen smiles the word as if he had been dreaming to say it.

“Your husband was no match for your beauty.” He bites his cheek, his hips mellowly rocking into him. Lan Xichen is soft, tender by their encounter, and he has no wish to leave the warmth of his body just yet. “That was fast even for me.”

“I wanted it like that,” Lan Xichen teases as if his plan all along was to drive him mad with desire; because it probably was. Nie Mingjue chuckles softly.

A chaste peck on his nose and he straightens, freeing his hands from his hold and pulling out gently. The sight of him drenched in him makes his cock twitch. “Not yet,” Lan Xichen pouts, huddling his arms against his chest, the ribbon still winding around his wrists and joined to Nie Mingjue’s.

He sits on his calves, unfolding the forehead ribbon and then releasing him. Not a single mark remains on his peerless skin, except for the pinkish marks of his fingers. He massages them kindly, but Lan Xichen escapes his ministrations, throwing the forehead ribbon around Nie Mingjue’s neck. A smirk widens on his lips, and Nie Mingjue lifts his chin, flicking his ponytail out of the loop.

“May I?” Lan Xichen purrs as if his lover could deny anything from him. Nie Mingjue nods once, a smug smile on his lips, allowing him to lace one end of the forehead ribbon around his neck. Like a red collar that holds the meaning of possessiveness less elusively than his lovemaking. 

Lan Xichen secures it with a double-knot. Satisfied by his doing, he hooks two fingers on the ribbon, his knuckles brushing his Adam’s apple, and tugs twice, testing its resistance. “You needn’t a leash, I’ll follow you anywhere,” Nie Mingjue rumbles. This is not the first time he’s trapped by the symbol that reminds Lan Xichen to conduct himself, and he loves the consequences a tad too much. What it means now is that he’s his, that he will conduct himself just to please his whims and fulfill his wishes; Nie Mingjue was born to do this anyway.

The collar dangles around his neck, loose enough it doesn’t hinder his movements or his breathing, secured enough it can’t slip over his head. Lan Xichen grasps tightly the free end and pulls, goading Nie Mingjue to lean forward to kiss his lips. “Until the sun is high in the sky…” he whispers, his other hand finding Nie Mingjue’s half-hard length for a gentle tug. He swells at the long strokes while their lips brush and bump in messy kisses. “Or so you promised.”

“And I intend to deliver.” Lan Xichen loves how he says the words and Nie Mingjue obeys as if ignited by them. While an intoxicating smile stretches his lips, Lan Xichen rolls around, turning his back at him, his knees anchored on the bed as he stands on his four.

He glances at him over his shoulder. “Again, dage,” he says in a sultry whisper, tugging at the free end of the forehead ribbon.

Nie Mingjue groans at the sight, Lan Xichen’s hair draping down aside, baring the jade skin of his back, the sinuous curve of his spine. A white trail trickles down his rim as an invitation, and he strokes himself ungently, working his cock back into a full hard-on. His demanding lover arches his spine and lifts his backside. Another tug at the improvised leash, and he topples over, both hands on the bed, his own thighs spreading Lan Xichen’s knees more widely.

His length finds his way between his butt cheeks as he instinctively rocks his hips. He licks his way up to his upper back, feeling his skin hot. Nie Mingjue straightens, both his hands fondling the lush curve of his backside, squeezing himself with them. “It’s not fair doing this to your husband when he already asked you for more,” Lan Xichen quips, glancing back at him to meet eyes brimming with lust and fixed on his backside. He already notes a trail pooling on his tailbone. “You promised…”

Expectant, Lan Xichen reclines on his forearms, the ribbon threading in his fingers and ready for another insistent pull. “Will you best me on the bed if I don’t fulfill my promises?” Nie Mingjue jests. 

“I could,” he moans, his stomach curling in anticipation at the cock teasing between his cheeks, tugging and prodding but never breaching in. “Maybe later.”

“Because that’s not what you want now.” Nie Mingjue holds himself by the hilt, aligning his cock and finding his way in with a mindful sway of his hips. They both moan in unison, Nie Mingjue at the tender heat of his hole, Lan Xichen at his soreness and the fullness promising to sheath inside him completely when he’s barely recovered from his climax.

Sensitive and overwhelmed, but pushing a little further to reach that peak of pleasure again, Lan Xichen pulls at the forehead ribbon, finding Nie Mingjue’s neck resistance. He grunts as he swivels his hips forward, sliding inside him in a seamless thrust. He swallows him whole, knees trembling as he worries at his lower lip.

His mouth puffs his ragged breath between his shoulder blades. Nie Mingjue lets his tongue out to gently swipe his way up to his nape, his knees scooting forward as he sinks himself in the depths of his body. “You think you’ll wear me out?” A chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Don’t count on it, Xichen. You’ll beg me to let you rest and I’ll still be taking my pleasure with you.”

“Promises, promises,” Lan Xichen retorts.

The first onslaught though steals a shameful moan from his lungs. Nie Mingjue is already impossibly hard and thrusting into him as if he knew nothing else. Lan Xichen wrings the end of the forehead ribbon with both hands, his cheek resting on the silky bedding. A rough hand wraps around his sensitive cock, working him hard with a gentle back and forth, using the leaking trail as lubrication. “Dage,” he whines, writhing while his body responds to him.

With a hand pressing against the mattress, his body moves in a sinuous swaying, his muscles flexing, his hips pounding into him, slamming his backside every time he bottoms out. “Come for me,” he whispers, his breathing wheezing against his nape. He nuzzles behind his ear, his tongue swiping gently the sensitive skin there.

“T-too soon.” Lan Xichen complains, but his cock swells in a tight, damp fist, and his stomach curls deliciously wrong.

He notes Nie Mingjue’s spiritual essence enveloping him in a sweet, wholesome aura, shyly at first, far from the powerful stream that steamed out of him in the past. But then this warmth, the selflessness of the act itself, the love contained in every fiber of him and shared wholeheartedly with him as they mate. “Lan Huan,” he whispers, his hand moving faster. He bridles his thrusts to perfection, to the beating of his heart, enough to stay at the brink of orgasm without spilling again, enough to please the insatiable lover demanding this.

Lan Xichen moans, tugging at the ribbon at the same time he straightens on his forearms. His back brushes against Nie Mingjue’s chest while their bodies glide in unison. His own spiritual energy meshes with his, turning this into an act that transcends everything they are. No matter how many years went by without the other, what they had to do, what they went through. Their souls and their golden cores are bound to be one, to share good and bad, to grow together as far as they want to reach.

“Don’t stop,” Lan Xichen murmurs, turning his head about to find blindly his lips, his eyes closed, his mind surpassed by the many sensations coursing through his being. “Dage, don’t stop,” he begs. He sways his hips, relishing in the delectable friction of his hand and the length entering him and never leaving him empty. It’s all too little and too much, futile, impossible to grasp or halt, an instant made in heaven and shaped in the noises of their bodies joined in the most basic of acts, of love, of the desperation of it ending before they’re even ready to glimpse the taste of pleasure.

“Xichen.” Nie Mingjue spills with his name on his lips, his body trembling during his release, his cock twitching, his legs faltering, his own heart leaping. He swears, and mumbles nonsense, with his cock squeezed in his hand, his own length trapped by a climax that catches him by surprise.

White spurts burst out of him and into the bedding, dripping down Nie Mingjue’s knuckles. Lan Xichen hides his face in between his arms, muffling his desperate cry into the bed, his body limp, sliding down as he lies on his stomach. Nie Mingjue groans when he’s denied of his warmth, slipping out of him unannounced.

His heart thumps as if there was a storm inside him, and he promised a whole night of this, of them. Nie Mingjue lies on top of him, feeling the softness of the forehead ribbon around his neck, the caress of his body against him, their ragged breaths trapped in their chests but fighting hard for a sharp intake of air. “I would live a thousand years in this precise moment,” he whispers against his ear, his arms tracing their way up to his hands. They intertwine in a lace-like embrace. They both smile even though they can’t see each other.

“Let’s just do that, dage,” Lan Xichen states. His weight over his own can’t be described as simply sheer happiness and yet, he smiles, grateful. He stretches a leg and winds it around Nie Mingjue's calf, just in case his lover decides to escape when he’s not ready at all to give up this little moment of closeness. “Cultivate together, reach immortality… never apart.”

“We must cultivate every day,” Nie Mingjue says, stifling a smile. “I am willing to devote myself to you…” His lips paint dainty kisses on his shoulder.

“We’ll have to spend many months in seclusion,” Lan Xichen adds, a chuckle wanting to break free of a body still lost in his release.

“Seclusion in my bed sounds about right to me…”

“Dage!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ╭(♡･ㅂ･)و ̑̑  
> From now on Xichen is in seclusion in dage's bed and we don't know if he will ever come out xDDDD May both cultivate to immortality (灬º 艸º灬)
> 
> I know I've already thanked you all, but again, thank you for your sweet words, comments, and kudos ˭̡̞(◞⁎˃ᆺ˂)◞*✰ I was reluctant to let them go just yet (hence the gratuitous Epilogue) but now I can come back to this story whenever I want to remember how much fun I had writing and planning this.
> 
> See y'all on the next one! ~ヾ(＾∇＾)

**Author's Note:**

> Suggestions, corrections, and comments are more than welcome ╭( ･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ ˂ᵒ͜͡ᵏᵎ⁾✩


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